


Thunderbirds: Reckoning

by Raichel



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, International Rescue Backstory, M/M, Personal Reboot AU, based on TOS with respect to TAG, cause they're the same person tbh and I have my own version of her here, since this isn't TOS or TAG both TinTin and Kayo are tagged, this is not really a ship fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:13:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25512628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raichel/pseuds/Raichel
Summary: International Rescue has been operating smoothly for just over a year. The Tracy family is always ready to save the world without a single failed mission on their record. But when whispers begin around the world that International Rescue can't be trusted and Jeff Tracy disappears under mysterious circumstances, can the brothers rise to the task of saving the world and facing the shadowy figure pulling the strings?This work/AU is my personal dream of how to reboot the original Thunderbird show, all due respect to Thunderbirds Are Go (a very good reboot!). Think of it like a reboot movie or something.
Relationships: Brains/Virgil Tracy, Jeff Tracy/Lucille Tracy, Tanusha "Kayo" Kyrano/Alan Tracy, Tin-Tin Kyrano/Alan Tracy
Comments: 13
Kudos: 16





	1. Danger at Ocean Deep

The voice crackled through his headset:

“Ready for take off, Tracy?”

“FAB,” was the snappy response. He brushed some stray brown hair out of his eyes.

“Alright then! Start the countdown!”

**_5_ **

The hangar doors locked into their open position.

**_4_ **

He flipped the final ignition switch.

**_3_ **

His grip tightened on the wheel.

**_2_ **

He centered his gaze in the clouds.

**_1_ **

His foot hit the pedal and he shot out the doors, into the open sky.

“Thunderbird is go!” rang in his headset. “Alright, Jeff, let’s see what this thing can do.”

“On it, Professor,” Jeff Tracy responded as Thunderbird Zero stabilized, cruising around 34 thousand feet. Jeff had done a lot in his 30 years, even land on the moon, but this was different. Other people had landed on the moon. No one else had flown Thunderbird Zero. Only three other people had even laid eyes on it.

“And make sure to keep a low profile,” The Professor added from base, “can’t have this project getting too much attention while we’re still in prototype.”

“Radar deflectors are on,” Jeff confirmed, checking his dashboard indicators and screens. “and if anyone can see this thing from the ground, I’d be impressed.” The compact Thunderbird Zero was only about the size of a car, and this high up even the bright red paint job wouldn’t stand out.

It was a damn sight sturdier than the first test flights; the wings on the back didn’t shake in the turbulence anymore, and the rockets on each side had stopped spluttering. He was also more than grateful that the domed, bubble cockpit had been better reinforced. Anything to avoid cracks.

“Yeah, don’t screw this up, Jeff!” a woman’s voice joined the professor in his headset. “I need you back here in one piece!” There was laughter in her voice; she wasn’t too concerned.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy, Lucy,” Jeff responded. The sun glinted off his wedding ring. Maybe he needed gloves for the next run?

“Alright Jeff,” The Professor cut back in, “you’ll reach the danger zone in just a couple minutes. Get down below the clouds and see if you can find that life raft!”

“FAB,” Jeff responded, decreasing altitude.

* * *

Thunderbird One sunk below the cloud cover, and Scott Tracy scanned the water for signs of life boats.

“How many am I looking for?” he asked base.

“There were four people on the oceanography sub,” his father, Jeff Tracy confirmed from base. That first flight of Thunderbird Zero was nearly 30 years behind him. “And our instruments indicate a storm rolling in fast,” he added, “You have maybe twelve minutes.”

“Alright. I see one lifeboat. Thunderbird Two, get Thunderbird Four looking for other crew members. I’ll deal with the surface.”

“FAB,” Scott’s brother confirmed from Thunderbird Two.

In under a minute Scott had activated the auto pilot in the Thunderbird One rocket, and was repelling down to the lifeboat below.

“I can only get you out of here one at a time,” Scott told the man and woman in the boat as soon as he touched down and started disconnecting his harness. He anchored the line to the boat and turned back to the passengers. “Who’s first?”

The water was starting to get choppy, and the woman nudged the man forward, and Scott made sure he was properly secured before sending him up into Thunderbird One. A larger wave jerked the boat around, a Scott lost his footing for a moment.

“Scott!” the woman yelped, grabbing his arm. His head snapped around to look at her as he got his balance back, and her eyes zipped up to her coworker, disappearing into Thunderbird One. She gestured up at him,

“I’m worried about him.”

“O-of course,” Scott replied. “It’ll be alright, ma’am, don’t worry.”

He was able to get her up into Thunderbird One without incident, and as he pulled back up from the boat and the waves got larger Virgil crackled across the radio from Thunderbird Two,

“Gordon just got back with two oceanographers. Do you have the other two?”

“I have them,” Scott confirmed. “Let’s get these people back on dry land.”

* * *

They deflected the thanks from the researchers when they dropped them off on shore. Lots of “You’re life savers,” “Thank you for everything you do,” “Can’t believe you’re able to pull this off,” and the woman Scott had assisted chimed in with, “I’m sure your parents must be proud.” Scott nodded awkwardly, but the comment stuck with him.

Not that there was much room for contemplating it when they made it back to Tracy Island, where grandma immediately thrust a dust-cloth into his hands.

“Glad you boys are here,” she said, forcing some windex on Virgil and a mop on Gordon. “You’ve still got some work to do. We have company coming!”

“Company?” Gordon asked, but Grandma was back on the warpath of cleanliness.

“And your bathrooms haven’t been cleaned in months!” she called as she walked away, “I best not find you slacking! How long until John and Alan get back?” she barked in the direction of the kitchen.

“R-r-roughly one hour, Mrs. Tracy!” Brains called from the kitchen.

“Good! They can help you get that damn stove clean!”

“I cleaned the sink out kinda recently,” Gordon muttered, heading for the large front windows.

“Need a hand, Brains?” Virgil called, heading for the kitchen.

Scott was left alone with his dust-cloth. When he was sure Grandma wasn’t about to round the corner brandishing a swiffer, he started looking around for his father, dusting here and there for appearances.

he found Jeff Tracy behind his desk, standing precariously on his chair to reach the taller shelves.

“Need a hand?” Scott asked, putting a hand on the chair to stabilize it. “I’ll trade with you.”

“Couldn’t hurt,” his father said, glancing down at him. As he climbed down from the chair the duster caught a picture frame and flipped it off the shelf. Scott fumbled to catch it. “Sorry,” his father said. “How was the mission?”

“Went off without a hitch,” Scott told him, handing back the old photo of his mother. “except for the split second when I thought a woman had figured out my identity.”

“That’s unusual.”

“Turns out one of her coworkers was named Scott, I guess.”

His father raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think that’s what our records said. Did you recognize her?”

“No,” Scott told him, climbing up onto the chair, “probably a nickname. Or I misheard her.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” his father allowed, handing the photo back up to him, “make sure Lucy’s photo is a little farther back on the shelf. We don’t need to be cleaning up broken glass when we’re trying to get this place cleaned up.”

“You think she’d be proud of us?” Scott asked, looking over the photo for a moment.

“I know she would be,” his father confirmed.

“How far did you get cleaning up here?” Scott added.

“Only about two shelves. You think anyone would really see the dust?”

“Grandma would.”

“Fair point.”

* * *

Grandma was waiting with cleaning products in hand for Alan and John when the couch rose back up into the living room from Thunderbird Three’s hangar.

“Alright boys, we’ve got maybe an hour and a half before she gets here, get to work!”

“What was that?” Alan lied, rubbing his ear, “I can’t hear you, my ears are still popping.”

“Want me to yell it?” Grandma said.

“No ma’am.”

“Didn’t think so.” she pushed a broom and surface cleaner into their hands and marched back to her tasks. “Hop to it! You don’t want your little girlfriend arriving to a dirty house!”

Alan looked to John, and John just shook his head.

“She’s not talking to me, bud.”

“Wha— but she’s not—“ Alan turned back to where Grandma had been, “Tanusha’s coming?” he called after her.

“Yes!” Grandma called back, “Now get to work! And draw straws for which of you boys is cooking dinner, ‘cause after all this cleaning it certainly won’t be me!”

“Jeez, I’m not event adjusted to gravity yet and she throws a broom at me,” John chuckled, taking a few stumbling steps forward and casually dropping the broom.

“Yeah, maybe you should’ve stayed up there a little longer,” Alan told him.

“Maybe. But the new automated system can help me get my feet back on the ground. Where—?” John looked left, right, up, and finally glanced down to find the broom at his feet. “Oh. Right. Guess stuff actually falls down here on earth.”

“Gotta make sure we don’t hand you any glass for a couple days,” Gordon noted, walking past them.

“Please don’t,” John agreed, “you need help?” he added, following after Gordon.

“Wait—“ Alan found himself abandoned and looked around, “what am I supposed to be doing?”

* * *

Her plane touched down and she pulled it into the familiar hangar. In the last couple years since she got her pilot’s license she’d done this plenty of times, and even more often with her father as she was growing up. She barely had time to remove her helmet before Alan barreled into her. At least his footsteps had given her enough warning to brace herself.

“Tanusha!”

“Hey, Alan!” she beamed at him, “You are stunningly uninjured,” she noticed, examining his face.

“Well, I do have a nasty bruise on my shoulder I could show you. And your hair looks nice! I-I mean—“ he fumbled over his words, but Tanusha didn’t flinch.

“Thanks!” she chirped, “Got it cut just a couple days ago. A bob’s nice and practical.”

“If it isn’t little TinTin,” Virgil said, joining them and ruffling Tanusha’s hair. She grabbed his hand and looked him in the eye,

“Virgil, you’re the brother I never had, but if you call me that one more time I will punch you in the face.”

“How ‘bout Tani?”

“Maybe,” she conceded, “in moderation.”

* * *

The Tracy home was rarely quite so full. With Tanusha only around during the summers, someone almost always monitoring the planet from Thunderbird Five, and grandma coming and going as she pleased, it wasn’t too often that all of these people were under the same roof.

And yet, when a call came in on his desk phone, Jeff Tracy had to pick up. There were only so many people that had that number, and most of them were in this room.

“Hello?”

“Hello Jeff,” a woman’s voice replied in a sharp British accent, “I wanted to check in with you about your theory—“

“Of course, Penny. It’s great to hear from you,” all eyes had turned to him at the mention of her name, and he added, “you won’t believe who all I’ve got here with me—“ he held out the phone, and a chorus of Tracy brothers chorused,

“Hey Aunt Penelope!” without hesitation and with varying degrees of sincerity.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting an audience,” Penelope noted.

“We’ve even got a few esteemed guests here with us,” Jeff said, glancing at Tanusha and his mother.

“Hello, Penny, dear!” Grandma called over, only looking up from her crossword for a moment.

“Hi Lady Penelope!” Tanshua added in.

“But sorry, you had something to tell me?” Jeff said, returning the phone to his ear.

“Oh don’t worry, it’s always lovely to hear from you all,” Penelope assured him, “but yes, I just wanted to let you know that my sleuthing has supported your theory so far: the sudden failure of the engine on the oceanography sub does indicate sabotage. It’s been years since that particular fault has occurred from wear and tear, and the sub wasn’t even two years old.”

“Good to know. You’ll keep looking into it?”

“Of course,” Penelope said. “I’m also meeting with a political contact this afternoon about some distressing whispers of distrust I’ve heard about International Rescue.”

“You’ll have to let me know how that goes,” he told her.

“It will likely be a little after four in the morning your time when I leave that meeting, Jeff.”

“Eh, I’m usually awake,” he assured her.

“Alright then,” she said, “I will call you when we’re through. Enjoy the company of your family.”

“Thanks Penny,” he managed to say, just before she hung up.

Conversation had continued around the main room without him, everyone collecting into predictable pods: Tanusha and Alan catching up on her last semester at school, studying art and international relations; John and Gordon, the twins, were closest to Grandma and were helping with her crossword; Virgil was dramatizing his experience of the day’s mission to the willing audience of Brains and the begrudging audience of Scott. Jeff’s instincts kicked in from years of wining and dining with the wealthy and acting as NASA’a poster boy, and he began to work the room.

“What’s the name of the actor who played Phil in Modern Family?” Grandma asked as soon as Jeff made any indication that he was heading over to her. He looked over her shoulder at the crossword.

“I have no idea,” he admitted, “Who’s Phil?”

“I’m not sure. One of the dads,” Grandma shrugged. “They might as well ask about the lone ranger’s nephew’s horse. At least I have these two to help me with scientific terms,” she added, gesturing to John and Gordon.

“I knew the scientific name for pufferfish,” Gordon said, looking up from the puzzle for a second.

“Any news from the station?” Jeff asked John, shifting to a topic he was more familiar with than 50-year-old sitcoms and sea creatures.

“Not really. The automation process wrapped up pretty smoothly, and the system seems to be working OK. I can check in on general monitoring, it seems to be picking up all the right signals, tracking emergency center calls around the world, but nothing has tipped it off yet, and no one’s called us directly.”

“Good, good,” Jeff nodded, slowly drifting over towards Alan and Tanusha.

Tanusha was having trouble finishing her story she was giggling so hard, and Alan was blatantly enraptured. He saved that doofy grin for Tanusha, but she had no way of knowing that. (Jeff, on the other hand, had been watching his son develop this habit for a few years now.)

“Sh-she fell asleep during the lecture!” she managed between giggles, “I don’t know if the professor noticed, with her sunglasses and the easel between them, but it’s not like Dr. Ruby hasn’t been around for a while. I bet she knows what a hungov—“ Tanusha cleared her throat, noticing Jeff. “Hello Mr. Tracy!” 

“I’ve been around a while, too,” he pointed out with a smile, “I know a fair amount about hungover students. The sunglasses would definitely be a dead giveaway.”

“Yeah, it was right after spirit week, too,” Tanusha explained, “about a third of the class didn’t even make it to class. B-but I wasn’t partying,” she added quickly.

“Your secrets would be safe with me,” he assured her. “I wouldn’t tell your father.”

“Oh! He says hello, of course,” Tanusha told him.

“I’ll have to give Kyrano a call,” Jeff said, “but I’ll leave you kids to it,” he added, patting Alan on the shoulder.

Since Jeff had hung up the phone Virgil didn’t feel the need to keep his voice down, and his storytelling had gotten even more animated.

“—and Gordon was such a mess! Not that I can blame him,” he was saying.

“I wish Gordon was here to defend himself,” Scott muttered to his father as Jeff stepped over to join him.

“That bad?” Jeff asked.

“That out there,” Scott clarified, “I could swear we had about 15 minutes left when Gordon hit the water, not nine and a half.”

Jeff chuckled and settled in to hear the stirring conclusion of Virgil’s tale.

* * *

Slowly but surely, over the next couple hours, everyone left the room. John was the first to call it a night, still a little fuzzy from returning to earth after a month away. Grandma stuck around for a long time, until her crossword was done, at which point she headed off to bed. Scott and and his father were the last ones left, as Jeff suddenly realized, glancing up from his magazine to look at the darkened room. Between the sun setting and half the lights in the main room being shut off as everyone else went to bed, the room was painted strangely with shadows.

“You should get some sleep,” he told Scott.

“It’s not that late,” Scott shrugged. “You’re not sleeping.”

“I have to stay up for Penny’s call,” Jeff said.

“It’d be nice to talk to Aunt Penelope,” Scot replied.

Jeff chuckled and turned back to his magazine. It took him a good while to notice the one blinking light on a shelf under his desk. He reached down and pulled out the blinking device. He’d nearly forgotten it was down there. The dusty, chunky old scanner was blinking with coordinates, and Jeff squinted at it for a moment, weighing his options.

He shut it off and put it back on the shelf, before closing the magazine and standing up.

“I think I’ll go out for a bit,” he told Scott.

“At this hour?” his son asked, sitting up straighter.

“It’s not as crowded. Cities at night are interesting, and I haven’t gotten out in a while.”

“But, last week you—? What about Aunt Penelope’s phone call?”

“Oh, I’ll be back before she calls. Besides, some activity will help me stay awake. Don’t wait up,” he added, leaving Scott alone in the shadowy room.

* * *

Jeff tracy took the elevator down past the garage, down into the Thunderbird hangars, and made his way into one of the back store rooms. He flicked on the light, and walked past piles and stacks of stored pieces and prototypes from Thunderbird models no longer in use. It was half storage room, half museum, really, the collection haphazardly charting the growth of the Thunderbird vehicles and the dreams of International Rescue. He stopped for a moment before a dusty tarp, draped over an old model. Jeff hesitated for one more moment before yanking off the tarp and placing his thumb on the print scanner lock. Recognizing him, the machine whirred to life, unlatching the bubble top so he could climb in.

He went through the takeoff checklist on muscle memory, hand flicking through the controls. He’d made sure his path out of the hangar would be clear. He flipped the final ignition switch. His grip tightened on the wheel. He centered his gaze on the open door.

Thunderbird Zero zipped out of the hangar and into the night, Jeff Tracy at the wheel.


	2. Perils of Penelope

Lady Penelope checked her hair as Parker pulled the Rolls Royce up to the palace of Westminster.

“Have to be presentable,” she muttered, “must give members of parliament my best face.”

“Of course, m’lady,” Parker replied as the car rolled to a stop.

“I’ll meet you in the agreed upon parking lot in about an hour. Do you think you’ll be able to find those records alright?”

“Of course, m’lady,” he confirmed as she climbed out of the car.

“Well then, good luck, Parker,” she said, meeting him at the driver side window.

“You as well, m’lady,” he returned with a nod. “See you in an hour.”

She turned and walked into the building with her best poise, appeasing all the proper guards on the way back into the offices. She found the proper door, and knocked politely.

“Mr. Taylor?” she asked, carefully opening the door.

“Ah! Penelope! How lovely to see you!” the MP said, rising from his desk to meet her and shake her hand, “Punctual as ever,” he added.

“I do try very hard. Have to keep up the good reputation of the Creighton-Ward family.”

“But of course,” he chuckled. “do sit down! To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Well, Richard, you know I take on some freelance journalism projects from time to time, and I have a few questions for you,” she explained, pulling a note pad out of her purse.

“You’re not covering any scandals about me, I hope?” he asked.

“Why?” she retorted, taking a seat in the chair in front of his desk, “Do you have any?”

“No,” he assured her, “what information are you after?”

“I’ve heard some rumors here and there that International Rescue is coming under question.”

“Oh, yes,” he hummed, settling behind his desk. Penelope looked up sharply; she’d been hoping for him to dismiss the rumors as unimportant gossip or the comments of a few snippy outliers. “There’s been some concern lately about the morality of the organization.”

“ _Morality_?” she repeated, “What could be immoral about saving lives?”

“Oh, nothing really,” Mr. Taylor said, “but they function without oversight, and anonymously at that. Their technology is a total mystery aside from the fact that it’s undoubtedly powerful. If they were to turn their apparent resources against any of us—“

“Mr. Taylor,” Penelope chided, “surely you don’t think a group of people totally dedicated to protecting people in times of crisis would ‘turn against’ anyone?”

“Perhaps not, but there is no contingency plan. And what if more than one emergency hits them at once? How do they decide who to save? What biases do they have? We can’t help make up for them, nor will there be any repercussions for them if people die because of that bias—“

“But their conscience—“

“Can we continue to rely on their conscience, Lady Penelope?” Mr. Taylor asked.

“Richard,” she said, “We’ve known each other long enough for you to speak frankly with me. Are you really this skeptical? There is no evidence of negligence on the part of International Rescue. Their record so far is spotless—“

“So far,” he retorted, “but would there be evidence of their failure? It would be a life or death situation, no witnesses would be likely to survive—“

“Richard!”

“I’m sorry, Penelope. Perhaps it isn’t likely to be so bad, but the level of secrecy around International Rescue isn’t exactly reassuring.”

“Did you just come up with all of this on your own?” she asked, “You’ve always been a supporter of International Rescue, where is this coming from? Who started all these whispers I’m hearing?”

“Well, I certainly couldn’t say who started this conversation,” Mr. Taylor said, “I’ve heard a great deal about it throughout parliament. Different parties have different angles on it, of course, but I’ve heard bipartisan concern.”

“I see. Who brought the matter to you, specifically?”

“Ms. Edwards’ sent me a note about it. Her new secretary brought it over.” he told her.

“And who is that?”

“I didn’t get his name,” Mr. Taylor confessed, “I didn’t expect it to be important.”

“Well, perhaps I’ll just pay her office a visit, at least for a moment. If you remember anyone else who has talked a great deal about this do let me know, won’t you? I’d like to get as many perspectives as possible for my article.”

“I’d be happy to, Penelope,” Mr. Taylor assured her.

“Good.”

“But there may not be much shelf life on this story,” he told her, “we’re taking the question to a vote in three days. We need a consensus for our ambassador to take to the international council next week.”

Penelope swallowed hard. That was not a whole lot of time.

“Well,” she said, “perhaps I should try to interview more people while I’m here—“

A knock came on the door, and a secretary stepped in. He seemed startled to see Penelope.

“Hello,” he said to her, seemingly on reflex, before turning to Mr. Taylor. “Er… Ms. Martin has invited you to tea, sir.”

“Oh, how lovely,” he replied, “I’ll meet her at our usual table as soon as I’m finished here.”

“Very good,” the secretary replied, nodding to them. “Have a good day, Mr. Taylor. Ms. Penelope.”

Penelope squinted after him as he stepped quickly back through the door.

“How odd,” she muttered.

“You know him?” Mr. Taylor asked.

“I must have met him at a party,” she said, replacing the confusion on her face with a serene smile as she turned back to him. “I suppose I shall have to go pay Ms. Edwards a visit, and let you get to your afternoon tea.”

“I suppose so,” he said. “It’s a shame we couldn’t spend more time together.”

“Perhaps we can talk more this evening,” she told him, “I hope you’ll be able to attend the gala at the estate?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he said.

“Wonderful.” she picked up her purse and kept the note pad in hand as she stepped back into the hall, Mr. Taylor a few steps behind. “Have a lovely day, Mr. Taylor,” she told him.

“And you as well, Lady Penelope,” he replied, before they went their separate ways.

With a little work and one wrong turn, Penelope was able to find Ms. Edwards’ office and knock on the door.

“Yes?” a woman replied from within, and Penelope opened the door.

“Ms. Edwards?” she asked, the woman puttering around the office.

“Oh, no,” the woman replied, “Ms. Edwards is in a meeting. I’m her secretary.”

Penelope hesitated.

“Ah,” she finally said, “I see. Have you been working as her secretary long?”

“Oh yes,” the woman said, “roughly three years now.”

“Have you been sick recently? Taken a day off?” Penelope asked.

“No, not that I can recall, why?”

“I’m sorry, I’m just tracing some rumors around the office. I’m writing an article.”

“Oh, lovely!” the woman chirped.

“Yes, it’s quite engaging. Would you happen to have heard anything about International Rescue?”

The woman thought about it for a moment.

“I suppose I have,” she eventually said, “mutterings about oversight and such.”

“Could you give me any names of people you’ve heard talking about it?” Penelope prompted.

“Yes, I think I could give you a few names,” the woman said, and Penelope handed over a fresh sheet on her notepad for the woman to jot down some names.

“Thank you so much,” she told the woman, and headed back into the halls, armed with lists and suspicions. As she walked throughout the building she passed many people, several of whom she would consider dear acquaintances, but none caught her attention so much as an older woman, perhaps ten years her senior, with dark hair and a familiar face.

Penelope stopped in her tracks and watched the woman go. She only saw her for a moment, the woman didn’t even make eye contact with her, but there was something terribly familiar about her.

She couldn’t help but mention it to Parker as she stepped back into the Rolls in the parking lot.

“I have had the strangest day, Parker,” she said, fastening her seatbelt. “Someone I don’t recall ever meeting addressed me by name, and I saw someone walking the halls that looked suspiciously like— like— well, someone I haven’t seen in many years.”

“That does sound strange,” Parker agreed, starting the car. “Were you at least able to find the information you were looking for?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, “I got a great deal of information on the current political standing of International Rescue, along with a few names to research. Did you find the information on the submarines?”

“I did indeed, m’lady.”

“Very good,” she concluded.

“Home, m’lady?” he added, pulling the Rolls out of the parking lot.

“Home, Parker,” she confirmed, “and perhaps I can have a stiff drink. But first, I must get a hold of Jeff,” she said, pulling out her compact. She dialed up his personal phone; no need to risk waking up anyone else in the house. It rang once, twice, four times, nine times— the connection cut itself off. No answer.

Penelope frowned at the little golden device. Perhaps Jeff had fallen asleep. It was very late at night on Tracy island, practically on the other side of the world. But it was important information, so she tried again.

And again.

And again.

Though she couldn’t come up with a particularly good answer to why he wouldn’t be picking up, after five missed calls it seemed pointless to keep trying. But his personal phone wasn’t the only one she could try. She tried the main home phone. After four more unanswered calls, she snapped the compact shut, a bit more violently than she might have intended.

“Communication troubles?” Parker asked.

“I suppose so,” she muttered. “Nothing to worry about, of course. Not yet.” She’d be home soon, and could make a better effort to get in touch with him using the technology she had at the estate.

Penelope did her best to remain calm. Radio silence was perfectly reasonable. No cause for alarm. She could check in with International Rescue’s operations on her console, assure herself that everything was in order, and carry on her evening in peace.

She started up the console and made one last call to the home phone. Still no answer. First she checked the status of each of the Thunderbirds: all still firmly planted on Tracy island. The passenger planes were also accounted for. She wasn’t sure if it was actually reassuring that no one seemed to have left the island. Perhaps she’d caught them all in the depths of REM sleep? She had one last thing to check before she could put her mind at ease: the trackers. Perhaps it was a bit of overreach, but the central members of International Rescue had unique trackers constantly on their person. Waterproof wristbands, only removed in emergencies. Penelope had a set of specially made metal bracelets to conceal hers. She counted up the tracker dots on her monitor. Only Jeff’s console identified them by name. She came up one short.

She counted them again, to be sure. And again, she came up one short. She’d heard them all on her call with Jeff this morning; there were nine people staying on Tracy island. But only eight trackers registering. Except, with all vehicles accounted for, how—?

No, not all vehicles.

Penelope jumped up from the console, hitting the shutdown command. She didn’t stick around to see the station fold back up into a beautiful wooden armoire, leaving the study for her room. She rushed past Parker, mumbling a hap-hazard apology for not taking tea right this moment, and pushed through her door. She sat down on her bed and pulled open the top drawer of her bedside table. Rifling through books, records, devices, and small weapons, she reached the very bottom of the drawer, barely touched for years, and pulled out a dusty, chunky old scanner. She held down the power button and gave it a few good smacks, and it flickered to life. With the tap of a few buttons and the twist of a dial she found the information she was looking for. A tracking signal, far from where it should be.

She strode back towards the sitting room, meeting Parker in the doorway.

“Everything alright, m’lady?” he asked.

“I’m afraid not, Parker,” she had to tell him, sitting down and pulling her compact back out, “but I think I can take that tea now, if you would be so kind.”

“Of course, m’lady. I took the liberty of adding a splash of rum.”

She smiled at him, and the pleasant expression was genuine, but also in stark contrast to the anxious bouncing of her foot.

“Thank you, Parker,” she told him, as she tried the main Tracy Island phone again. Parker hesitated to leave the room.

“I- I don’t believe I’ve seen that device before,” he noted.

“You wouldn’t have,” she sighed. “father was still alive when Last I—“

A voice came through the compact,

“Hello? Lady Penelope?”

“Scott! Have I got that right?”

“Yeah, you got it. You have news for Dad?”

“Well, yes, but that news is all but inconsequential now. Scott, I hate to tell you this, but your father is missing.”


	3. Edge of Impact

The sun was barely up when the Tracy brothers were forced awake, one by one. Scott went down the hall, oldest to youngest, banging on doors and demanding everyone meet him in the living room. He woke up Brains and Tanusha the same way, and found Grandma already awake, just back from a jog around the island.

“Good lord, Scott, what’s all this racket for?” she snipped at him. Scott hesitated.

“Dad’s missing,” he managed to spit out after a long moment. Grandma’s expression shifted into a true seriousness Scott had rarely seen. For the briefest second, the very real and terrible possibility hung, unspoken between them. Jeff Tracy doesn’t just ‘go missing.’

“Well, there’s nothing saying he won’t turn up somewhere,” she reminded him, “he’s a fighter if he’s anything.”

“Right,” he said with a nod, but the way her face had fallen wasn’t too reassuring. She must’ve read some of his worry on his face because she patted him on the shoulder, putting on a more familiar smile.

“We’re going to be alright, Scott. If anyone can find him it’s you all. And I’ll make sure you don’t have to do it on an empty stomach.”

“Thanks, Grandma,” he said, and she pulled him into a hug before heading for the kitchen.

Everyone reached the main room in a different state. Brains was entirely awake and ready to face the day. He may as well have been up for an hour or two already, fully dressed and attentive. Tanusha was also fully dressed, but her hair stuck out at a few odd angles, and she was still sort of squinting at the world through the sleep in her eyes, as much as she tried to rub it away. Virgil had opted for yesterday’s clothes, and was mostly awake, and John had gotten jeans on, though he’d probably slept in the promotional t-shirt he was wearing. Gordon had not bothered to get out of his pajamas at all, and was falling asleep on John in a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants. Alan hadn’t changed out of his pajamas either, but at least he was awake, and Scott couldn’t really judge anybody. In his rush, he was still in pajamas himself.

“So? What’s going on?” John asked. “There’s nothing coming through the station, what’s the emergency?”

Scott looked over the group before him: sleepy, confused, maybe a little grumpy, not ready to face the day. Definitely not ready for the news he had to report. But this couldn’t wait.

“Dad’s missing,” he told them, and the air in the room shifted. Everyone’s attention was sharper, and all eyes were on Scott.

“What?” Virgil was the first to speak up, “What happened? How do you know?”

“Aunt Penelope called. He went out last night, just to get some air, and now nobody knows where he is. She couldn’t get a hold of him.”

“What about his tracker?” John asked.

“No sign of it,” Scott said. “All Penelope could find was coordinates for his craft, washed up on a beach somewhere.”

“His c-craft?” Brains asked, “What was he flying? One of the jets? N-none of my screens indicated—”

“He took Thunderbird Zero.”

“The old Supercar machine?” Virgil asked.

“That thing even works?!” Alan said, “It hasn’t been touched in, like, decades!”

“Well, n-not quite,” Brains spoke up, “Mr. Tracy has requested maintenance and repairs on it every few years since it was officially d-d-decommissioned.”

“So, Dad took a secret mission in a defunct Thunderbird?” Gordon asked, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. “That’s now just, like, washed up somewhere? _Where anyone could find it_?”

It dawned on everyone, then, the added risk to secrecy.

“Obviously our first line of action is to investigate the crash,” Scott said. “I’ll take Thunderbird One out there and see what else we need to—“

“Wait,” Tanusha spoke up, “Mr. Tracy’s tracker is unaccounted for? These things are practically indestructible,” she said, holding up her wristband for emphasis, “someone would have to have destroyed it on purpose.”

“We— we don’t know that,” Scott tried to insist, but he couldn’t think of any accident that might take out the transmitter.

“He could’ve destroyed it himself,” John mused, “if he didn’t want to be found.”

“Why wouldn’t he want to be found?” Virgil asked.

“There’s no reason he would—“ Scott was interrupted as Grandma leaned into the room,

“You can’t save anybody without some food in you. Come eat.”

“But I have to get to the—“ Scott started, but Grandma was having none of it.

“Thunderbird Zero is terribly out of date, and if I read Penelope’s report correctly that beach isn’t even public. No one’s going to find it for a while yet. You all need to be ready to face a day like this.”

Everyone was at least properly dressed by the time they were all sitting around the breakfast table, though several of them were hitting the coffee pot hard, and Tanusha had been nursing her green tea consistently. It was a subdued breakfast, given the situation, but Grandma had gone out of her way to make sure everyone had some of their favorite breakfast foods to help with morale.

“Didn’t Aunt Penelope have news for Dad?” Virgil asked when the silence started to become too unbearable, “Did she tell you anything about it?”

“No,” Scott said, “she didn’t consider it important anymore.”

“She said something about ‘distressing whispers,’” John said, “that seems kinda’ important.”

“We’ll have to ask her later,” Scott said, focused intently on his breakfast.

Silence fell for a few minutes more before John’s pocket started beeping. He pulled out the Thunderbird Five satellite monitor,

“There’s an emergency,” was all he said before jumping up and heading to the better technology of the main room. Scott followed right behind him, and everyone else scrambled to get up from the table and head to the main room with them.

John hooked up to the Thunderbird Five feeds through his portrait on the wall, calling up as much data as he could.

“What is it?” Scott asked, looking over his shoulder.

“It hasn’t developed to the point of no return yet, but a real bad avalanche risk has developed around a whether observation station in the alps.”

“Well, we could get out there in maybe four hours,” Scott said, “I could go first—“

“You need to go check out Thunderbird Zero,” Virgil pointed out, “We can make an educated guess of what pod would be best, and I’ll take Thunderbird Two out there.”

“Thunderbird Two wouldn’t be able to land anywhere near the station,” John pointed out, “well, maybe if you took the climber with you—”

“I have to be there to lead the mission,” Scott insisted, “without the mobile command center—“

“Somebody has to stay here at Dad’s command center,” Gordon pointed out.

“Brains can—“ Scott started, but Brains interjected,

“I have to m-monitor the hangars, a-and I don’t have any experience with the command centers.”

“Another emergency is coming in,” John said, momentarily gaining everyone’s attention.

“Two at once? That almost never happens!” Alan said, “We’re built to help with rare, high-risk emergencies—“

“Sh!” Scott hissed, waving Alan away, “What is it, John?”

“There’s a dam breach in Japan,” John explained, “They don’t have access to the tools to fix it, not in time at any rate. They estimate it’ll give catastrophically in about three and a half hours, and the equipment can’t make it for at least four. We could get there in an hour and a half—“

“That takes precedent, then, if other services might still be able to reach the station in the Alps. Virgil, you can take Thunderbird Two, and the pod with Thunderbird 4, but then you’ll have to come back here for another pod before heading to the Alps.”

“We could just double load one of the pods,” Virgil retorted, “throw in the important equipment to assist at the station—“

“But you couldn’t predict what will happen,” Scott said, “it’s better if you come back. You’ll risk stranding Gordon, but—“

“That’s fine,” Gordon piped up. “I can take care of myself.”

“It doesn’t have to be that complicated, Scott,” Virgil said, “it just has to get done. If we—“

“Um,” John spoke up again, “I don’t think you’re going to like this, but—“

“Oh no,” Virgil muttered.

“—another emergency is developing.”

“This is unheard of,” Scott muttered, looking over John’s shoulder at the data from Thunderbird Five.

“That’s what I said!” Alan said.

“The shuttle headed to the ISS has gotten off course and their thrusters aren’t firing. They’re currently on course to collide with the station, missing the connector by several feet.”

“I could handle that!” Alan piped up, “Thunderbird Three could get up there and grab them, deliver them safely! Our controls are real precise, no problem!”

“I’d have to go with you,” Scott said. “How long until the shuttle makes contact? Does that need to take precedent over investigating Thunderbird Zero?”

“Thunderbird Zero _has_ to be retrieved,” Gordon said, “if that technology gets into the wrong hands—“

“You don’t have to come with me!” Alan insisted, “I don’t need a babysitter! I’ve been piloting Thunderbird Three for nearly two years—”

“You’re only 19. You can’t go on a mission that serious alone,” Scott snapped, “your brain isn’t even fully developed yet!”

“What?!” Alan shouted, “John and Gordon’s brains aren’t fully developed either and they get to go on missions!”

“He has a point,” Gordon said, nodding to Alan, “I think I have pretty good judgement for a 23 year old. You trust John with the whole satellite.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Scott barked, “I say you’re too young, I’m coming with you, and that’s final.”

“Oh yeah?” Alan said, “Who died and made you king?!”

Everyone froze, looking to Alan and Scott, the word ‘died’ hanging in the air. No one had dared mention it, even obliquely, until now.

Scott’s mouth hung open, a handful of emotions flickering through his expression, trying to settle on a few strong ones. Sadness and fear tried to stick, but Scott forced them out of his mind. Alan swallowed hard.

“Alan!” Virgil snapped, turning on his younger brother. “How dare—“

The twins stepped between Alan and the eldest brothers. The chair behind Jeff Tracy’s desk started to whir, and Tanusha watched it begin to sink into the floor.

“He didn’t mean it,” Gordon insisted, “right, Alan?”

“I- I don’t—“ Alan stammered pointlessly, worried about the anger he could see in Scott’s face now. He took a step back. The desk chair was starting to rise back up.

“I’m the oldest, I work the console, I am in charge,” Scott hissed, almost managing to contain the anger in his voice. Tanusha watched blonde hair rise over the desk. “and no one is going to die, especially if I keep you under supervision—“

The bang of hands hitting the desk made all of the brothers jump, and everyone turned to the desk, which Penelope was leaning over, glaring the Tracy brothers down, one eyebrow raised.

“Boys.” The statement was very quiet and subdued compared to her posture and the look in her eyes. “Is there a problem?”

“No, Aunt Penelope,” Scott said, looking away before looking back up at her to try and explain himself, “I was just trying to figure out how to organize our response to the emergencies coming in.”

“I see,” Penelope said, stepping around the desk. She glanced over everyone gathered in the room before turning to the feed from Thunderbird Five. After a moment of consideration, she turned back to the group.

“Virgil will take Thunderbird Two out to Japan with Thunderbird Four, which will be moved into pod— four, isn’t it? That would be helpful in the Alps?” she asked Brains, 

“Yes, l-l-Lady Penelope,” Brains assured her.

“Lovely. After dropping Gordon off he will move to the Alps to stabilize the station, or at least assist in evacuating the people there. Alan will take Thunderbird Three to assist the ISS.” She turned to look at Scott directly as he opened his mouth to speak, “Alone.” she clarified. “And Scott, you will investigate Thunderbird Zero.”

“But someone has to orchestrate everything,” Scott insisted, “I have to—“

“Tanusha,” Penelope said, turning to the young woman who had otherwise just been watching everything unfold. “you’ve been working with Mr. Tracy, haven’t you?”

“Yes ma’am,” Tanusha confirmed, “since I was fourteen.”

“Excellent. You will oversee everything from here. John will work as your assistant. Is that satisfactory?”

Everyone nodded, with varying amounts of sheepishness.

“Good.” Penelope turned to leave, ”Now, if you can handle yourselves, I have work to do—“

“Aunt Penelope,” Scott interjected, “what was your news for Dad?”

Penelope turned back. She hesitated.

“There is mounting concern around the world that International Rescue should not be allowed the amount of freedom we currently enjoy.”

“What?” John asked, “That’s never—“

“I believe there may be someone behind this growing sentiment,” Penelope elaborated, “someone who planted the seed, if you will. But that will take further research to confirm. So you boys must excuse me.”

Tanusha leapt up and got behind Jeff Tracy’s desk as Penelope strode out of the room.

“What are you waiting for?” Tanusha asked, looking back up from the desk as the International Rescue systems unfolded from the hidden corners of the desk, “You have your assignments! Go!”

The Tracy brothers jolted and headed to their respective posts, Brains bolting for the hangar control center.

Grandma caught Penelope on her way back to the hangar, and handed her a tupperware with a few muffins from breakfast.

“Got to keep your energy up!” Grandma reminded her as she took the box, “Can I still expect to meet you for fencing next Thursday?”

“Of course, Mrs. Tracy,” Penelope told her. “Thank you.”

“Any time, Penelope,” Grandma replied.

* * *

Tanusha and Brains both confirmed each takeoff, to better keep track of ETAs and make sure no one crossed too close to anyone else. Scott’s takeoff system was the fastest, built for him to reach any emergency before any other Thunderbird. In mere minutes, Thunderbird One was in the air, heading off for the location Penelope had given him for Thunderbird Zero.

Thunderbird Three was second to take off, heading for the space station. Alan wasn’t about to be caught slacking by his brothers.

“Hey, Alan,” Tanusha said, when he confirmed he was ready for take off, “don’t do anything too stupid up there.”

“I won’t!” he insisted, “I got this!”

“I know,” she told him. “I trust you. You’re cleared for takeoff.”

Thunderbird Two was the last to leave, and as they prepared for takeoff, Brains’ voice came over the radio,

“T-t-take care out there, Virgil,” he said, and Gordon leaned towards the radio,

“What am I, chopped liver?” he jokingly retorted before strapping in behind Virgil.

“Don’t worry Brains,” Virgil replied, “we’ll be just fine.”

A few minutes later, Thunderbird Two was in the air, heading for Japan.

John stood across the desk from Tanusha.

“What do you need, boss?” he asked.

She glanced up at him,

“I mean, you can sit down,” she told him. As he pulled up a chair she went on, “I just need you to keep monitoring the feed from the station, and I’ll work with the Thunderbirds. We’ve already had three emergencies in an hour, anything can happen today.” 

* * *

Jeff Tracy didn’t know where he was when he came to. However, it wasn’t hard to figure out that he was tied to a chair, that the lights were bright, and there was a figure standing over him.

“Good morning,” his captor said with a false pleasantness as Jeff tried to squint up at him. His eyes started to adjust as he glared up into a self-satisfied face.

“Hood,” Jeff spat. Oof, his head hurt like hell.

“Oh, are those the terms we’re on, Jeff?” The Hood asked, “Should I be calling you Mr. Tracy?”

“You should be dead, you bastard,” Jeff retorted. A glance side to side told him he was in some kind of storage room.

“I’m glad that’s what you thought,” The Hood said, “I tried very hard to keep a low profile these last two decades or so. It seems I am still smarter than you,” he added.

“So, what, you baited me out here?” Jeff asked, glaring The Hood down, shifting his hands around to try and get a better sense of what was binding his wrists.

“Oh, no,” The Hood told him, “I had you set aside for a later point in my plan. Getting you out of the way early was a unique convenience. Your sons, on the other hand, I am _absolutely_ baiting.”

Jeff’s breath caught. He hoped it didn’t show too much.

“I suppose it will be fun to have you here to report back to about their failures. Which I must get back to tracking,” The Hood added, turning his back on Jeff. “Sit tight, Jeffery. We’ll have another chat when I find the time.”

The light was flicked off and the door shut and locked, leaving Jeff alone in the dark. He gave his bonds an exploratory tug.


	4. Day of Disaster

Virgil called into base first, nearly two hours after departure. Thunderbird Two might not be the fastest, but Japan was the closest destination to Tracy Island.

“Just dropped Gordon and Thunderbird Four. Heading to the alps now.”

“FAB,” Tanusha confirmed, tracking both their signals. “Get in contact with Gordon,” she told John, “Make sure we don’t lose him. He’s the only one who can’t get home on his own.”

John nodded, and booted up communications.

“Thunderbird Four, do you read me?” he asked.

“Loud and clear, John!” Gordon replied.

“Awesome,” he said, nodding to Tanusha.

“How’re you doing, Scott?” Tanusha asked, switching her feed to Thunderbird One.

“Only a few minutes out,” Scott confirmed. “I’ll hook up Thunderbird Zero and get it back to base as quick as I can.”

“Do whatever you need to,” she told him, “if you find a lead on Mr. Tracy, follow it. We have things under control here.”

“You sure?” Scott asked.

“Positive,” she said, “let us know if anything serious comes up. Otherwise, you can handle yourself. Gotta keep communications clear in case another mission takes a turn.”

“FAB,” Scott confirmed.

“Tanusha?” Alan’s call from space was a little scratchier, and the video feed was blurrier than the others, but plenty clear.

“Hey Alan, how’re you doing?”

“I’m catching up with the shuttle earlier than expected! I should make contact within the next hour.”

“How long to the station?” Tanusha asked, double checking his report with the data coming in from Thunderbird Three.

“Probably two more hours or so,” Alan said.

“Awesome. You’re doing great, Alan,” Tanusha told him, and when his face lit up she added, “and these are video feeds, you dork. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Tanusha!” he said, returning to the task at hand.

“Who do you bet calls in next?” John asked, constantly checking the feed from Thunderbird Five.

“Probably Virgil. Scott will arrive first, but he’s on his own now. We’re juggling too many other things. Unless there’s something really shocking at Thunderbird Zero, we won’t hear from him for a while.”

* * *

Scott was almost afraid to look at Thunderbird Zero. He could feel his heart rate rising from the moment he started landing procedures. He didn’t allow himself a moment of hesitation while prepping to investigate or climbing out of the rocket, but with everyone else absorbed in other things he only had his thoughts. He couldn’t help but contemplate the worst. Still, he made his way across the sand over to the banged up craft.

Thunderbird Zero was empty, for better or for worse. There were a few dents in the body and a crack in the glass dome, but it looked like it might still be in working order. It had been underwater, for sure. Washed up on the beach, not crash-landed. Scott circled the old machine, trying to put together a viable sequence of events that would leave it here, but couldn’t come up with anything conclusive.

There wasn’t anything for it but to hook the old thing up to Thunderbird One and take it back to base. He turned back toward the rocket to get the equipment and begin the laborious task.

* * *

Virgil checked in again about three hours after his first communication.

“Just landed at the bottom of the mountain. Heading up to the station now.”

“FAB,” Tanusha replied from the desk. “have you been able to assess the situation?”

“I called in to the station. I’m going to try and secure some of the largest boulders, minimize the risk as best I can, but the first priority is to get everyone out of the building, just in case.”

“Good luck, Virgil,” she told him, “let us know if anything crops up.”

“FAB,” was what Tanusha was pretty sure he responded, but she couldn’t be sure, as the feed started to get garbled.

“Virgil?” she asked, “Virgil, is everything OK? Is it storming there?” she looked to John to see if he had a read on the weather. He tried to check from the Thunderbird Five feed,

“It’s not registering. I think the satellite feed is going dead.”

“Keep trying,” she said, “could just be a glitch.”

* * *

It was not a speedy task to get Thunderbird Zero attached to Thunderbird One. There was a great deal of super-tough netting needed to hoist it up and carry it, especially at the speeds Thunderbird One could travel at. He was maybe three quarters of the way through the process, almost done with the roughest work and sweating from the summer sun, when his quiet, laborious task was interrupted.

“Scott, isn’t it?”

Scott jumped to his feet, turning to face the stranger, hand hovering just above the ray gun on his belt.

“What?” Scott asked, hoping his expression didn’t give too much of his fear and confusion away. Maybe this was an oddly lucky guess, or another accident, like the woman from yesterday’s rescue.

The man who’d spoken looked Scott up and down. The stranger was decidedly older, at least middle aged, maybe even as old as Dad. He was dressed in sleek, practical clothes, maybe even dressed for diving. He was entirely bald, and there was a look in his golden eyes that Scott didn’t like at all: a look of absolute confidence, a look of triumph. Triumph over what? Worst of all, the man looked familiar, but Scott couldn’t quite place him, leaving a terrible uneasiness in the pit of his stomach.

“You must be Scott. Surely he’d give Thunderbird One to his eldest son?”

“I- I don’t know who you think I am,” Scott tried to bluff, hand closing around his gun, “but International Rescue—“

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” the man asked, taking a step closer. Scott resisted the urge to take a step back.

“Sir, if you would clear the area, this is important work and you don’t need to put yourself at risk—“

“I’m not at risk,” the man assured him, and Scott could _almost_ place that face. “you, on the other hand, are at a great disadvantage. Did your father really never mention me?” the man asked again with the hint of a bemused smile.

The face clicked into place in Scott’s memory, in an old photo hidden away in an album on a high up shelf. He pulled his ray gun on the man.

“The Hood,” he hissed.

“So my reputation does proceed me,” the man hummed. “You Tracys are so fond of threats,” he added, looking at the gun, “and yet you’re rarely bold enough to follow through.”

“What did you do with my father?” Scott snapped.

“Nothing you could prevent,” The Hood replied. “in fact, I doubt you’ll be able to prevent anything. You’re like your father that way: you can’t protect what you love.”

“What are you—?“

“Tell me, Scott, do you know where your brothers are?”

Scott hesitated for a moment, but worry started to creep down his spine and he fumbled for his radio,

“Thunderbird One to base,” he said, and waited for a reply, but only static answered. “Come in, base? Anyone? Come in, can anyone hear me? Hello?”

The Hood began to walk away, back down the beach. Scott looked up and started to follow, gun still pointed at his retreating back,

“Stop right there!” he barked, but The Hood didn’t stop or even flinch.

“No, I have business to attend to,” he told Scott, “and I think you have bigger things to worry about.”

A boom rattled through the air and threw Scott onto the sand. He looked up as one of Thunderbird One’s landing legs gave out with a horrible, echoing creak, and the rocket leaned over to one side, landing with a thud that shook the beach.

When Scott turned back The Hood was gone.

* * *

John and Tanusha tried everything they could think to try, testing all kinds of signals with no luck.

“The whole system is down,” John realized, “it’s not just communications. All inter-ship systems are offline.”

“What does that mean?” Tanusha asked, hands still flying around all the switches she could get her hands on.

“A lot of things,” John admitted. “It will impact each Thunderbird differently, but most navigation systems will be faulty and other functions might also stop working.”

They fiddled with the controls a moment before before John said,

“I’m taking one of the jets.”

“No you’re not!” Tanusha shot back, looking up as he started to leave the room.

“I have to get out there,” he told her as she dashed across the room and grabbed his arm.

“No, you don’t,” she said, “we don’t need another craft out there without communications.”

“I can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

“You think I’m happy with this?!” she snapped, “You leaving isn’t going to fix it, and it isn’t going to help. What might help is if you get down to the lab and help brains work around this, find out what’s wrong.”

For a moment they stared each other down, unstoppable force and immovable object. John was the first to yield.

“Alright,” he sighed, pulling his arm away.

“Thank you. And see if Grandma can come help me monitor everything. We need to be ready for anything the second we solve this.”

* * *

Gordon had almost completed mending the crack in the dam, following it all the way down to the lakebed. Inches from the base of the crack, he noticed an unusual device blinking from the depths. Possibly something involved in the stress on the dam? Gordon was leaning closer to the glass, squinting at the device, when all the displays flickered. He looked over the instruments, and found his navigation system on the fritz and a lot of his readings inconsistent. He flicked on the radio,

“Thunderbird Four to base, I’ve got some technical issues.”

Static filled the cockpit.

“Fun,” Gordon muttered to himself, shutting off the radio. Now he was alone down in the depths, with only static for company. Static and that odd little device.

* * *

It was immediately apparent to Alan when the systems started going on the fritz. Almost everything in front of him flickered and stuttered, and his connection to the Thunderbird Five instruments died, leaving him without any way to verify his position in space.

“Thunderbird Three, calling base,” he said into his headset. Static stuttered back. “Tanusha?” he tried again, “Hello?” but there was no answer.

Alan’s heart rate shot up. The only place as lonely as space was the deep sea, and finding that tether to earth snapped was, for a moment, the loneliest he’d ever felt.

But panicking wouldn’t solve anything. His brothers wouldn’t panic. Or at least, they’d tell him not to. He still had a hold on the shuttle, and had nearly reached the space station.

“Thunderbird Three to ISS,” he said, trying another frequency, “do you read me?”

“Loud and clear,” came the response. He was not alone in the universe, and the mission was still on track.

“I’m going to need your help guiding the shuttle in here in the final stretch,” he told them, and hoped for the best.

* * *

As the last member of the weather observation crew was safely deposited at the base of the mountain Virgil tried to radio in.

“Thunderbird Two to base, the rescue is going well so far, I—“ static crackled back at him. “Base?” he asked, fiddling with the radio’s settings to no avail. He took a deep breath, and headed back up the mountain.

* * *

With the shuttle successfully docked at the ISS, Alan pulled Thunderbird Three around to point it back towards earth. Seeing the shuttle from another angle, he noticed an odd little device on its side, blinking steadily. He’d studied rocket ships excessively growing up, and no design he’d ever seen included something like that.

“Thunderbird Three to ISS,” he called in again.

“Loud and clear,” they replied.

“Are you seeing a small, black, uh, device? On the side of the shuttle?” he asked, “Is that supposed to be there?”

There was a pause, before the person on the ISS came back over the radio,

“We see it. No one here recognizes it.”

“With your permission, I’d like to take it back to earth and check it out.”

“Affirmative, Thunderbird Three,” they replied.

With some hesitation, Alan deployed a robotic arm from Thunderbird Three and tried to carefully remove the device. It popped off more easily than he might have expected from something that survived getting through earth’s atmosphere. In a matter of minutes the device was inside.

* * *

When Virgil reached the precarious boulders and weak points in the mountain, just above the station, he found a blinking, black _something_ at the base of the worst crack. Virgil unbuckled from his seat, preparing to reach out of the climber. If he could grab it—

The devices all went off at the same time. The same moment as the explosion on the beach with Thunderbirds One and Zero.

* * *

The underwater explosion forced Thunderbird Four back, jolting Gordon and cracking the front glass. Gordon grabbed some duct tape and reached up to try and secure the crack, when a second shockwave hit, throwing him back against the cockpit door.

* * *

Alan was slammed back into the wall of the elevator. He had been maybe six feet away from the device, which had been brought into the lower level of Thunderbird Three. Smoke filled the room as Alan fought to stay conscious and failed.

* * *

The explosion rocked the mountain, and Virgil counted himself lucky that the climber held on. He was able to fire off some small explosives at the bigger boulders, hoping to mitigate the damage to the station, but that kept him from protecting himself. The avalanche hit the climber full force, throwing Virgil around the climber as it rolled down the mountain, before being buried at the base.

* * *

Gordon hesitated a moment, the wind knocked out of him. He shifted around for a moment, and it seemed that nothing was broken, however achey he was and however many bruises he’d have tomorrow. He climbed back to the front of Thunderbird Four and returned to the fault in the dam to redo the last ten minutes’ work so he could get back to shore and, hopefully, get home.

He managed to get a photo of the odd little device before risking touching it with a robot arm to throw it very far away from him and his work.

* * *

Virgil wasn’t so lucky as Gordon. When he tried to get up his left leg was not having it. It didn’t help that the climber had landed at a horribly awkward angle. With some effort he climbed back into the driver’s seat and strapped back in, taking the weight off his leg, and letting him put off figuring out what exactly was wrong with his leg until later. Instead, he set to work trying to wiggle his way out of the pile of rocks he’d found himself crushed by. He silently thanked any and all higher powers, and Brains, that these machines were all built ridiculously tough.

* * *

Alan came to a couple moments later, back on the upper level of Thunderbird Three. That wasn’t a safety feature he knew the elevator had. He stumbled back to the dashboard, trying really hard to make his eyes focus and ignore the pounding in his head and the growing warm, dripping sensation on the back of his head.

The instruments said the smoke was contained, so that problem could probably wait. What was more important was getting back to earth with half the navigation equipment offline.

* * *

Scott sat stunned on the beach for a few seconds, looking between the fallen Thunderbird and where The Hood used to be. But there wasn’t time to waste, or time to sit around feeling sorry for himself: he could work and mentally beat himself up at the same time.

Scott got back to his feet and returned to the task of securing Thunderbird Zero. Takeoff would be more difficult with Thunderbird One missing a leg, but the explosion looked to be far enough from the central mechanisms that everything would probably be in working order. He would check as soon as his cargo was properly secured. He just had to get all this machinery into the air.

There was only one thing any of the Thunderbirds could do: limp back to base.


	5. The Uninvited

Communications were still down when Tanusha got a call from John. Thankfully there didn’t seem to be any problems with calls within Tracy island.

“Well, Brains has some ideas on how to circumvent the interference, but it’ll take some time,” he told her.

“How much time?” she asked. She’d taken to checking radio stations and websites for any news on the emergency calls. The interference seemed to only be between Thunderbird crafts. News of an avalanche in the alps was less than reassuring.

“He said the fastest we could hope for is half an hour, if his current hunch pans out.”

Tanusha sighed.

“Alright. Are you not with him?”

“He kicked me out,” John admitted. “I’m headed back up to join you and Grandma in— hang on,” John noticed a figure walking toward him down the hall and shut off the communicator. Was there any way any of the Thunderbirds had already made it back? “Hello?” he asked, and as the man got closer he was able to make out his face.

“John?” Tanusha asked from his communicator.

“Dad?” John asked. As he turned his communicator back on he only got a smile in return.

* * *

Penelope was well versed in putting on a pleasant face. Her bluff was unparalleled and her lying was almost as skilled, if she needed it. All this to say, it was not a challenge for her to wine and dine Britain’s elite without revealing the slightest hint of the stress buried only a few centimeters deep. Not a soul in her ballroom would ever guess her brother-in-law was missing under suspicious circumstances and that, with every question about International Rescue, she was inquiring about her own bread and butter. As far as any of her guests knew, she was merely a curious observer, wondering aloud about some parliamentary office gossip. Or, at worst, casually debating ethics.

“Wouldn’t you think it’s worth the perceived risks?” she asked one particularly engaged minister, “Nothing has yet gone wrong with International Rescue, and the lives they’ve saved—“

“But the question of secrecy,” he insisted, “can people with such power work unchecked, unknown?”

“What danger do they pose?” she retorted, “It’s not as though they’ve shown any evidence of weaponry on their craft—“

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t there,” he said, “everything is secret. We wouldn’t know.”

“But they are easily contacted. They respond to any call, if one had questions, concerns, certainly one with such a high profile as parliament, could simply call them up!”

“We wouldn’t be able to verify anything they said.”

She frowned at him. This really had cropped up essentially overnight, and her research into the sources of these concerns had been inconclusive at best. Mere months ago there had been wholehearted support for International rescue around the world, but now everyone was raising questions. All started by a couple of gossips she couldn’t seem to track down in any official records.

“Tell me, have you spoken to a Mr. Rockwell?” she asked him, testing out one of the common names. “Who did you first talk to about these concerns?”

“Oh, I’m not sure of his name,” the minister admitted, shaking his head, “he made some very good points, however. Have you considered—“

“Still investigating your leads, Penelope?” Mr. Taylor asked, joining the conversation and the audience of two or three guests it had attracted.

“Oh, hello Richard,” she said, turning away from the other minister, “how lovely to see you again.”

“Likewise,” he returned with a nod. “Are you finding anything of interest?”

“Here and there,” she waved it away, “this sort of thing is fun to keep me busy.”

“Well, before I forget, that nice young man we saw today, the secretary, left me a note for you. He really must be very fond of you.”

“Who wouldn’t be!” another guest said with a laugh.

Penelope chuckled and humbly waved the compliments away as she took the piece of folded paper from Mr. Taylor. As other conversations began to pick up around her, she took a moment to unfold the message and see what the stranger could have to say to her. Written in a tidy script, it read:

_I hope you’ve learned not to put your nose where it doesn’t belong._

She raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing the vague threat for distinguishing characteristics. Mr. Taylor noticed her reading the note, and he added,

“Oh, and he said— what was his name again? He said Haziq says hello.”

Penelope’s breath caught. She prayed no one noticed her moment of shock, and immediately returned to her smiling, pleasant, hostess persona.

“Ah, of course,” she said, “dear Haziq. How could I not recognize him earlier? I- I’ll have to give him a call.” As conversation carried on, she minimized her nervous shuffling as much as she could. She continually shifted her weight from one foot to another, all while looking intently to the guests around her as though she were actually listening to them. She was not, of course. She was counting the back and forth exchanges between other people, gauging how much longer she should wait before retreating from the room without suspicion. “Do excuse me,” she said quietly at an opportune time, “I must go powder my nose.”

She smiled and waved politely to guests as she passed them on her leisurely way out of the room, doling out compliments and well wishes. However, the moment the ballroom doors shut behind her she began sprinting down the hall toward the kitchen, heels be damned.

She nearly ran headlong into Parker a few feet from the kitchen doors.

“Ah! Parker!” she chirped, putting on a brief moment of out-of-breath pleasantness, “I need to take the Rolls—“

“Yes, m’lady. I’ll pull it around momentar—“

“No, Parker,” she told him, “I—“ the kitchen doors opened and a member of the catering crew walked by, making her reconsider what she was about to say. “May I have a private word with you?” she asked, though it was not really a question.

She led him away from the potential of prying eyes and ears, and tried again,

“I need you to stay here and field the guests. I can’t very well wait for them to leave on their own, and there are too many to leave the estate unattended. I need to leave all this in your capable hands, so I can get to the island as quickly as possible.”

“May I ask what’s wrong, m’lady?”

Penelope hesitated, taking a breath.

“I have just received a threatening note from a dead man.”

“And you believe it?” Parker said, raising an eyebrow.

“If I accept this impossibility, it makes a lot of recent oddities make a great deal more sense. Most of all, I don’t feel I can risk not telling the Tracy boys—“

“Have you attempted to contact them?” Parker asked.

“No,” Penelope begrudgingly admitted, pulling her compact out of a pocket in her dress and flipping it open, only to be met with static. She looked to Parker, no longer trying to hide her fear.

“Try adjusting it,” he suggested. “and I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly here,” he added.

“Thank you, Parker,” she said, flashing a smile as she fiddled with the settings on the compact to no avail. Only crackling static or deafening silence.

“Drive safely, m’lady,” Parker said. She nodded to him and snapped the compact shut, dashing upstairs to change quickly into something more practical and grab the dusty old scanner from her bedside drawer.

In minutes she was in the front seat of the Rolls, setting the GPS for Tracy island and making sure the vehicle could handle breaking the sound barrier. She hadn’t used the old Thunderbird features in several months, at least.

* * *

Tanusha tried John’s communicator again a few moments after he cut off awkwardly with an off-handed “hang on.”

“John?” she asked, and she could swear she heard distant speech. “John, you there?”

“Yeah, I just—“ John’s sentence ended abruptly and was followed by a concerning _thud_.

“John?!” she asked again. When nearly ten seconds went by she turned to the security cameras, grateful to find them still working.

John was collapsed in the hall, slumped against a wall. An unidentified man was walking briskly away from the scene, ray gun in hand.

“He’s heading towards the labs,” Tanusha said, pulling Grandma’s attention away from monitoring news feeds for any hints about how the missions were going.

“Who?”

“i don’t know,” Tanusha admitted. None of the cameras she’d seen had yet gotten a square view of his face. But how could he be heading for the labs? They were hidden in the hangars. The door was hidden in a wall.

A wall the man was standing in front of, looking it over.

“No way,” Tanusha muttered to herself, but the control panel revealed itself from the wall. “We have to get down there,” she told Grandma, “and be ready for a fight.” Tanusha hesitated a moment longer, watching him lift his wrist to the scanner—an International Rescue tracker? But as the door opened for him she had to get moving, even if it looked like he was reaching up and… removing his face?

She didn’t have time to worry about that. She headed for the lab, jogging to catch up with grandma, and pulled a metal capsule, maybe two inches tall, off her keychain. With the flip of a latch it expanded out into a metal staff and Tanusha was armed and dangerous. Not quite so much as Grandma, with a razor-sharp foil, but close enough.

She just hoped they wouldn’t reach the lab too late.

* * *

Brains looked up as the door opened, and jumped to his feet as he saw The Hood striding toward him, mask in one hand and a ray gun in the other, pointed straight at Brains.

“Where’s Professor Graham?” he demanded, stopping when the barrel of the gun was only inches from Brains’ face.

“Professor Graham is d-dead,” Brains told him, and The Hood faltered for a split second. He reached forward and lifted Brains by the collar,

“Give me all the blueprints you have,” The Hood hissed, “every record, or face the consequences.”

“G-go to hell!” Brains choked out.

The Hood scowled at him and tossed him away. Brains’ head hit a control bank and bounced painfully. He was blinded by stars and barely avoided blacking out, head spinning as The Hood connected a memory drive to Brains’ computers.

“Hey!” Tanusha snapped, drawing The Hood’s attention as she dashed into the room, staff at the ready. Catching him off guard, she was able to smack the ray gun from his hand and send it skittering across the lab floor. Finally, she got a good look at his face, and it wasn’t at all what she had expected. “You!” she snarled.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” The Hood said, just before she snapped the staff against his other hand, forcing him to drop his mask.

“You should be dead, traitor,” Tanshua growled, pressing the staff across his neck and pinning him to the computer bank as Grandma grabbed the mask.

The Hood kicked one of her feet out from under her and was able to force her back a few steps, but he had barely turned toward the ray gun before she jabbed him with her staff in one shin and smacked the staff into his other ankle, sending him toppling to the ground, where she jabbed him in the chest to keep him down.

“Your brother mourned you, Haziq,” she hissed, and The Hood’s eyebrows raised,

“You do know me, then.”

“T-t-Tanusha,” Brains spoke up, holding his head and squinting over at the computer, “the memory drive!”

Tanusha looked up, and The Hood used that opportunity to force his way up, jabbing Tanusha with her own staff. Sparks exploded from the computers, Brains firing The Hood’s ray gun at the drive and just barely missing. Tanusha and Grandma flinched back, but The Hood barely blinked.

“Tanusha Kyrano, is it?” he mused as the sparks died down, grabbing the memory drive. “You’re named after one of our cousins. She was over-emotional, too.”

With a yell Tanusha swung her staff at him, and Grandma dashed forward with her sword. He blocked the staff, and it hit his wrist with full force, and Grandma’s foil sunk into his shoulder, but he kept hold of the drive and forced his way past them and out of the room.

Tanusha sprinted after him down the halls, nearly tripping on John. She hesitated a moment, double checking that he was still alive, and as if to answer her question as quickly as possible his eyes started to drift open. That was all she needed. She continued her sprint down the hall, but she’d lost valuable time. By the time she forced her way out the doors, heading for the beach, The Hood was already climbing into his vessel, a sleek submersible speeder in faded yellow and blue, with “TB2" emblazoned on the back fin. She flung her staff at the ship like a spear in a last-ditch attempt to do any more damage to him, but it was no use. She had barely reached the sands of the beach as the ship had sunk underwater and disappeared.

Grandma joined her at the edge of the beach, steading the bruised Brains, as Tanusha activated an electromagnet on her keychain to retrieve her staff.

“Never thought I’d see that again,” Grandma hummed.

“What, Haziq?” Tanusha asked.

“I certainly didn’t think I’d see him again,” Grandma agreed, “but I never expected to see the old Thunderbird Two sub again, either.”

Brains and Tanusha looked at her,

“That was a Thunderbird?!” Tanusha asked.

“H-he has one of the old Thunderbird models?” Brains asked, “Every model b-b-but Zero were destroyed!”

“Apparently not,” Grandma said, looking out over the ocean.

* * *

Having put a great deal of distance between himself and Tracy Island, the Hood struggled to bandage his shoulder one handed and with an aching wrist. He’d done more difficult things, and at this point his injuries mattered little. He had looked over the files on the memory drive and confirmed that he had all he needed from the International Rescue computers. His explosives had also sufficiently crippled the new Thunderbirds. He worked to ignore the sharp pain in his shoulder as he headed for the small back room where he’d left Tracy.

He turned the door handle and realized the door was unlatched. As he pushed the door open it dawned on him how it might have been left ajar, and he came to the right conclusion just as he looked up to find an empty chair and frayed rope in the middle of the storeroom.

Jeff Tracy had escaped.

The Hood cursed under his breath and slammed the door, returning to the cockpit. There was only one step left, and then he would finally be free of the damned Tracys and the cursed name of International Rescue once and for all.


	6. Desperate Intruder

The lab was undeniably worse for wear. With at least one computer out of commission, still sparking from the hole left by the ray gun blast, worrying dents in several places, and likely a few technical glitches in the system, it was going to be a challenge for Brains to get back to work. Not that Brains was exactly up for it, with a possible concussion and a horribly distracting hammering in his head.

Grandma and Tanusha had managed to corral the injured Brains and John back up into the main room, and Tanusha had taken to pacing around in front of the desk while John tried to regain his bearings from being stunned and Brains laid down on the sofa, ice pack on his head.

“Can you talk through it with me, Brains?” she asked.

“I can t-try,” he replied.

“How bad is the interference? Do you think there’s a chance in hell you can crack it?”

“I don’t really h-have enough data,” Brains said, “Without any indication of the interference’s origin I was just blindly tinkering with frequencies, trying to find a way around it.”

“You think that guy has something to do with it?” John asked.

“Haziq?” Tanusha asked, “Oh, absolutely.”

“How’d he look like Dad?” John wondered aloud.

“Disguise tech,” Grandma replied, tossing The Hood’s mask onto the desk, the digital projection fabric flickering and glitching from the abuse it had received.

“He doesn’t have to be responsible for the interference, of course,” Tanusha went on, “but it sure was convenient that he was breaking in when we couldn’t call for help.”

“A-and when everyone was gone,” Brains added.

Tanusha stopped pacing,

“You think it’s all him?” she asked, turning to look at Brains.

“It’s certainly a p-p-possibility—“

“Anybody else hear that?” John asked, perking up. The room fell silent.

“What’re we listening for?” Tanusha asked.

“Sounds like engines,” John said, giving Tanusha a pointed look. “Jet engines.”

John and Tanusha bolted for the front balcony, Grandma a few steps behind them, and Brains propped himself up on the sofa to try and see out the glass doors.

“Something’s coming this way, for sure,” John concluded, as they all squinted up at an approaching dark spot in the sky. Tanusha dashed back in to Jeff Tracy’s shelves and grabbed a pair of binoculars to get a better look.

“That’s Scott,” she confirmed, “Brains, do you have to open the hangar, or could you walk somebody else through it?”

“If the system is working properly it’s j-just two buttons,” Brains replied.

“On it,” John said, already heading back toward the lab, “I’ll ping your communicator as soon as I get down there,” he told Brains.

* * *

Scott slammed a small, blinking device down on the desk.

“I know who’s behind all this,” he told Tanusha.

“Good,” she said, “It’s—“

“The Hood,” he said, at the same moment she concluded,

“Haziq.”

“Who?” they both said, giving the other an incredulous look.

“You don’t know about The Hood?” he asked, “Notorious villain, destroyed the first attempt at International Rescue?”

“Oh god, there’s two of them,” Tanusha groaned, hanging her head.

The sound of heels clacking down the hall at high speeds grabbed everyone’s attention.

“Did you let anyone else in?” Tanusha asked Brains, reaching for a ray gun stashed under Jeff Tracy’s desk.

“N-n-no,” Brains said, “I just—“ but he didn’t have time to finish the sentence and Tanusha didn’t have time to pull the gun before Lady Penelope appeared in the doorway.

“You’re in terrible danger,” she told them, trying to hide her shortness of breath, “you’re going to be attacked by—“

“Haziq?” Tanusha asked,

“The Hood?” Scott asked at the same time.

Penelope looked between the two of them.

“Y-yes,” she said, “how did you know?”

“No, wait, which one is it?” Scott asked.

“Wh—? No, The Hood is Haziq.” Penelope said, shaking her head. “He took the alias just before he betrayed us. I’m too late, aren’t I?” she realized, “How bad is it?”

“One of Thunderbird One’s landing legs was blown out with this,” Scott explained, holding up the device.

“Oh no. Where are the others?” she added, looking around the room.

“We can’t reach them,” Tanusha told her, “communications have been down for nearly two hours now.”

“C-c-can I see that device?” Brains asked, and Scott stepped over to the couch to hand it over.

“What’s his deal?” John asked, “Aliases, betrayal—“

“That’s less important right now,” Penelope said. "If there’s anything preventative we can do we absolutely must hurry. Or perhaps it’s all damage control now. If this might could help,” she pulled out the clunky old scanner from her bedside table, “it’s a communication device from the earliest days of the International Rescue project. It might help us track him, though I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s managed to shut off tracking.” she went to set the old device on the desk and her eyes fell on the mask. She picked it up, examining it, and sighed deeply, “Such a waste,” she muttered.

“This could be really helpful,” Brains said, still looking over the device Scott had brought back. “I r-recognize some radio equipment in this design. Let me take this apart, and I m-might be able to crack that interference.”

* * *

It took almost an hour to break through the interference, and a lot of tech brought up from the lab to try and avoid pushing Brains any harder than needed. He still had an ice pack strapped to his head, after all, and he and John were both still reporting occasional bouts of light-headedness.

“This is base to Thunderbirds, can anybody read me?” Tanusha asked, with everyone in the room holding their breath. “Can anybody read me?” she repeated. After another tense moment, a voice crackled through the radio for the first time in hours,

“Thunderbird Two to base!” Virgil replied, ”Gordon and I are almost home. Maybe fifteen minutes out. Both missions were successful, if a little bit rocky.”

“It’s great to hear from you, Virgil,” Tanusha said, “we’ll be ready for you.”

“What’s everyone else’s status?” Gordon asked.

“Scott’s here at base, but we haven’t been able to reach Alan yet. Trying him next.”

“Good luck,” Virgil told her.

“Thanks,” she said, before switching channels. “This is base calling Thunderbird Three. Thunderbird Three, do you read me?” her thumb tapped absently on the desk as she waited for an answer.

“We’re starting to receive readings from Thunderbird Three now,” John told her, reading from a screen for Brains in case he had a concussion. “Looks like the lower deck is in bad condition. Not suitable for extended activity—“

“What?” Tansha asked, “How bad is it?”

“Tanusha?” Alan’s voice called from the radio.

“Alan! Status report,” she demanded.

“Uh… I’m OK, I think. Mission was successful. I found this weird device on the shuttle—“

“What’s wrong with the lower deck?” Tanusha asked, “Our readings say it’s uninhabitable—“

“Unadvised, specifically,” John corrected her from across the room, only to be waved away.

“Oh. That. The—the device kinda’ exploded?” Scott gave Tanusha a pointed look and gestured at the device he’d brought in that let them crack the interference. “But, listen, I’ll be back to base within an hour, and now that I have the navigation systems fully online again I’ll be fine…”

“Take care of yourself, Alan,” Tanusha reminded him.

“I’m trying!” he said, “I’ll be back soon.”

“You better be,” she retorted. “Call in if anything changes.”

“FAB,” Alan confirmed.

* * *

As per Virgil’s estimation, he and Gordon made it back to the island first.

“What’s the bad news?” Tanusha asked as soon as they made it up to the main room, Gordon supporting Virgil to compensate for his injured leg.

“Well,” Gordon started, “the climber is going to need major repairs, and Thunderbird Four—“

“Brains! What happened?” Virgil asked, ignoring the conversation entirely and squirming out of Gordon’s grip to limp over to the makeshift tech center built around the sofa, “Why is there an ice pack strapped to your head?”

“Why are you limping?” Brains retorted.

“Occupational hazard?” Virgil tried, joining him on the sofa.

“Same here,” Brains told him, gesturing at the pack.

Tanusha and John took down notes on the state of Thunderbird Four and the climber. Thunderbird Four had blessedly minor damage, mostly cosmetic, but a crack in the glass was nothing to scoff at. So far it looked like Thunderbird Two might be the only one to make it out truly unscathed, but Thunderbird Three would still require further evaluation.

When Alan made it back to base, putting on an oxygen mask to get through the dense smoke in Thunderbird Three’s lower level, Tanusha was waiting for him in the hangar.

“Are you alright?” was the first thing she asked him, while he was still trying to get the mask off now that he was out of the ship.

“I’ll be OK,” he told her with great confidence.

“So, your sash being wrapped around your head doesn’t exactly inspire confidence,” she told him, taking the mask and tank from him and setting them aside.

“Oh, yeah, that,” Alan said, “so, there was this device—“

“About yea big, black, has an LED on it?” she offered.

“Yeah!”

“We’ve found a couple of them. What about it?”

“It exploded in the lower level, and I guess I hit my head on part of the elevator? It started bleeding so I tried to stop the bleeding.”

The fear and concern Tanusha was able to keep out of her voice was betrayed in her eyes.

“Cool,” she said, “so, we’re going to take you to get patched up right now, and then take a look at that device.” she grabbed his hand tight and led him up to the main room.

* * *

The three devices that had been brought back to base were gathered on the coffee table, and all of International Rescue’s central members were gathered around, staring at them.

“Aunt Penelope, are these familiar to you at all?”

“Hm?” Penelope lifted her head, “No, not particularly. Though, based on the data gathered from the explosions, a device like this may have caused the failure on the oceanography sub yesterday.”

They were a weary bunch, scattered around the main room and focused on the coffee table. Alan and Brains had their bandaged heads, and Virgil’s leg was propped up and wrapped as best they could manage, just making their best guesses at what, exactly, was wrong with it. Tanusha was developing a visible bruise on her neck where The Hood had forced her own staff up at her, and John and Penelope both seemed to be having trouble focusing fully. It’s hard to shake off the effects of a stun shot, and Penelope was wrestling with horrific jet-lag. Even Gordon and Scott were both rough around the edges, with hair all over the place and scuffed and slightly-lopsided uniforms. For that matter, everyone who had gone out on a mission was still in uniform.

Scott continued, undeterred,

“Well, then, the consistency implies they’re all the work of The Hood, assuming he planted one of these on Thunderbird One when I encountered him, which, I’d say, is a pretty reasonable assumption.”

A few people dignified him with a nod, whether or not they were paying full attention.

“That would mean that The Hood is behind all of these emergencies,” Scott said. “He made sure we were all out on missions so he could take on the base when the least amount of people would be here. Hell, _he knows where the base is_ ,” he added, some of the panic he’d been trying to ignore starting to creep into his voice. “he can create a major emergency anywhere, any time, and we’re the only ones with the capacity to stop it, by design. He’s also almost definitely the one behind Dad’s disappearance. Somehow, he’s a step ahead of us at every point—“

“Because he’s leading us along,” John pointed out, “he’s got us exactly where he wants us.”

“And we have no idea what his overall plan or next step is,” Tanusha sighed.

“Right,” Scott said. Not exactly an encouraging conclusion.

“So what do we do?” Alan asked, “We can’t just sit around—“

“Yes, you can,” Grandma interjected. “you all have been working for hours. Nothing is going horribly wrong right now. You need to take care of yourselves.”

“We can’t,” Scott insisted, “we have to get ahead of him, keeping thinking, and a call could come in, we need to be ready—“

“Exactly,” Grandma cut in, staring him down. “you all need rest, or else. I can watch the monitors and let you all know if something happens. Right now you need food, showers, naps, whatever will make sure you are ready when the next emergency comes in. But until then, you all need a break.”

A silence fell over the room, full of agents hard-wired to stay totally alert to danger and work tirelessly to protect anyone from anything.

“Go on!” Grandma snipped, gesturing them all on, and everyone jumped up. It was also a room full of people with a very healthy respect for Mrs. Tracy.

* * *

For an hour or two, Tracy island was very quiet.

For all Lady Penelope’s insistences that she would simply freshen up, maybe splash a little water on her face and have some coffee, and continue working, the moment her head hit the pillow in the guest bedroom she was asleep. Everyone that had been called out on missions got cleaned up and out of uniform. Injuries were further tended to and monitored, and everyone rested as best they could. Some slept, like Lady Penelope, others read, played video games, watched TV. The only thing that would occasionally break the silence was a steady dance of everyone checking in on one another, making sure nothing had been forgotten in the shuffle of the chaotic day or taken a turn for the worse in the meantime. Scott and John were particularly bad about this, checking in on everyone else at least twice before Grandma caught on and made them both leave the others alone.

Then the alert came in.

Everyone emerged tentatively from their rooms, gathering in the main room.

“How bad is it?” Scott asked, the first one to reach Grandma.

“It’s a developing situation,” she told him, “but the location is highly isolated. It’s an island energy facility, at least three hours from any point on the mainland with conventional equipment. We could reach it in an hour or less.”

Everyone took in the data on the Thunderbird Five readout where John’s portrait might otherwise be.

“It could be another trap,” Scott pointed out.

“M-more that likely,” Brains said, “the reported damage seems to l-line up with an explosion of a similar magnitude to the ones you all dealt with, or that may have caused those emergencies.”

“We’d be walking right into his hand,” John said.

“What, so we don’t go?!” Alan retorted, “Those were real emergencies with lives at risk!”

“We have to try and get a step ahead of him,” Tanusha said, “figure out what he’s up to. Best case scenario we can go in, help the people that need it, and avoid whatever setup Haziq has for us.”

“And how do we do that?” Virgil asked from his spot in a chair where he’d been forced to sit to keep weight off his leg.

“You can’t underestimate him,” Penelope said, before trying to inconspicuously stifle a yawn. “With all of our plans at his disposal, he could be doing anything. If he’s found a way to channel some of the energy from the facility, it could be even worse.”

“So, what do we do?” gordon prompted.

A silence fell, all eyes fixed on the read-outs.

Without the distraction and noise of conversation everyone was able to recognize footsteps behind them. By the time anyone heard the words,

“Well I think—“

they had all whipped around to face the intruder, and some had weapons drawn: Scott had his ray gun, Tanusha her staff, Grandma had pulled a knife from behind the desk, and Penelope had drawn her gun.

A fairly damp Jeff Tracy put his hands up on reflex. Everyone dropped their weapons.

“Dad!” Scott was the first to shout, as the Tracy brothers rushed over to their father, Tanusha and Brains close behind them.

“I don’t know that I’ve gotten this enthusiastic a welcome since you were little!” Jeff laughed, “I’m afraid I didn’t bring you anything.”

“What happened to you, Jeff?!” his mother asked, cutting through her grandsons and taking him by the shoulders, “You’re a mess! Where are you hurt?”

“I’m doing OK, Mom,” he told her, “just a few scrapes and bruises, I think. Nothing too serious.”

“But seriously, where were you?” Alan asked eagerly, “How’d you get back? What happened to Thunderbird Zero?”

“Well, it’s kind of a long story—“

“Jeff!” Penelope snapped, striding up to him with a conviction and a glare that got everyone to step out of her way. She grabbed him by the collar and yanked him close enough to hiss, “How dare you. What were you thinking?!” She shouted, shoving him back, “Do you know the stress you put your boys under? The stress you put all of us under?!”

“I’m sorry, Penny—“

“I don’t want sorry, I want an explanation. What would drive you to take Thunderbird Zero out without explaining yourself? To risk your own life?”

“To be fair, I didn’t know I might be risking my life,” Jeff told her, and winced back from the scowl that elicited. “But,” he tried again, “I… I got a signal on the old tracker. I had to see what it was, just in case. Make sure it wasn’t her.”

“Jeff,” Penelope sighed, and there were so many emotions wrapped up in her tone, from exasperation, to sympathy, to pity, to anger, to sadness. “You know she’s dead. After all this time, you would really go after—?“

“He wasn’t dead, though, was he?” Jeff retorted. “You don’t suppose—“

“No.” she cut him short, pointing a warning finger, “you— no, both of us, have spent far too long dealing with this to give in to wild speculation. After nineteen years—“

“Excuse me,” Alan spoke up, half-raising a hand. Both Jeff and Penelope turned to look at him, “could you maybe explain what the hell you’re talking about? At all?” Tanusha nodded her support for this.

Jeff glanced at Penelope and took a deep breath.

“It’s a long story.” Jeff sat down, and everyone else in the room followed suit, all eyes on him.

“Go on, then, Jeff,” Penelope said, crossing one leg delicately over the other as she sat down. “Tell it.”


	7. Introducing Thunderbirds

Jeff Tracy and Professor Steven Graham had first concocted the idea over dinner at a conference. The idea was vague but lofty, befitting a 24 and 30 year old, respectively, both with a few drinks in them. Surely some of the world’s disasters could be preventable. There were new technologies on the brink of being feasible, new modes of propulsion, that could cut down on those crucial seconds getting to emergency sites. If some of these theories panned out you might even be able to make it to the other side of the world in less than a day, maybe even 12 hours or less. If there was a whole arsenal of technology standing by, ready to solve any problem, you wouldn’t have to worry so much about the time it would take to arrive at the scene and assess the situation.

Between a rich kid with a passion for aviation and an engineering professor, Jeff and The Professor built up an impressive dream of this fleet, throwing ideas back and forth and building off each other.

“Here’s the problem, though,” Professor Graham said, gesturing at Jeff with his glass, “such a force will never exist.”

“I’m sure in a few years the tech—“

“It’s not a matter of technology. It’s a broader logistical problem,” The Professor explained, “first: the money would never materialize to put together a project this large. The type of emergency we’re talking about is too rare. Second: who would control it? This has government funding written all over it, and the bureaucracy that would tie the whole thing up would be a nightmare, even if we assume it’s under world power and not tied to a particular nation. If nothing else, it would take years to even get approval for such a project, probably decades to get it off the ground. And then of course you have to worry about human biases getting into the mix, dictating what emergencies deserve interference—“

“So it’s an independent entity,” Jeff shrugged.

“What?”

“The rescue team works outside the world of bureaucracy. Purely for the good of mankind.”

“That would never fly.”

“Wouldn’t it?” Jeff retorted. “You said the emergencies would be somewhat rare. If the tech was up to snuff, you could have an absolutely spotless record: not one failed rescue. It’s all secret, and they can’t argue with total success.”

“Total secrecy.”

“Kind of a… real-life superhero situation. Outside national jurisdiction. Like the arctic! Or space!” Jeff’s eyes lit up at the thought of space, “We could even have a spaceship, faster than anything else.”

“A spaceship?” The Professor echoed.

“Maybe not. Focusing on earth would be more important. More lives will need saving on earth this year than in a decade or two of space travel. But maybe rocket propulsion—“

They continued to spin heroic and technological dreams all night, and when they parted ways they laughed about it. Such a big dream, maybe someone in a position to pull it off would have the same idea, but they were just two people. They were only brainstorming. It would never really happen.

It was just a dream.

* * *

The Professor called Jeff up maybe a week and a half later,

“So, I’ve been thinking,” he began.

“It’s not about the rescue idea, is it?” Jeff asked, and The Professor hesitated on the other end of the line. “Because I’ve actually had several thoughts about that hypothetical project,” Jeff admitted.

“So have I,” Professor Graham quickly replied, “it could be possible to build a fleet with varied enough tech at high enough quality to really be worth something. I’ve even started thinking about a vehicle that could fly, drive, and dive. A sort of super car…”

“See, I’d thought,” Jeff chimed in, “that I could probably fund such a project. If we built up the tech gradually—we’d have to be on the absolute cutting edge to pull that off—I might have enough cash flow, and a small handful of trusting friends, that could help us get our hands on materials. There’s also this island that’s been in my family a while, and I read about an underwater bunker somewhere…”

The idea had legs, or, perhaps more importantly, Jeff and The Professor had passion and dedication. Tentatively known as “The Rescue Project,” it became their mutual hobby even as they went about their daily lives. As The Professor was teaching, working towards tenure, and publishing scientific articles, Jeff was training for space flight. He’d been a pilot for a few years, but the next step had presented itself. Once or twice a month they would send each other new plans they had dreamt up, or sources onother projects that might feed into the idea.

After several months of this, the idea was starting to take an impressive amount of shape. The Professor reached out to Jeff again with a new idea,

“We can’t do something like this alone,” The Professor told him.

“You’re right,” Jeff agreed, “we’ll need to surreptitiously reach out to a lot of people to obtain the proper resources. I’ve been thinking about potential fronts or ways to keep the operation secret when we finally start building. Maybe a front man—“

“Sure, sure,” The Professor said, “but we’re only two people. We’ll need people paying attention to radios and crises around the world for us, and if we pull off this multi-vehicle plan, we’ll need co-workers.”

“Co-workers?”

“Jeff, a two-man team can’t do all the work we’ve laid out for ourselves. We need more pilots. We need more people on the team.”

Jeff considered it a moment.

“I suppose you’ve got a point,” he acknowledged.

“Of course I do,” The Professor replied. “and I think I know someone who would be a really good fit.”

* * *

Professor Graham talked Jeff into meeting him in England a few months later, so they could have lunch with this “good fit.” Whatever Jeff was expecting (and he wasn’t expecting much), it wasn’t Lucy.

“Lucy Creighton-Ward,” she introduced herself, standing up and offering her hand as soon as Jeff reached the table, “you must be Jeff.”

“Yes,” Jeff forced out, trying to get a read on the woman before him, stylish but also practically dressed, and with a shrewd look in her eye and an undeniable air of confidence. “Jeff Tracy,” he properly introduced himself as he shook her hand.

“Professor Graham has told me a lot about you,” Lucy said as they sat back down.

“All good things?” Jeff asked with half a nervous laugh, “I’m afraid he hasn’t told me that much about you.”

“Really?” she raised an eyebrow at The Professor, who just shrugged,

“Sorry,” Graham told her.

“Well then, Mr. Tracy,” she said, turning back to Jeff, “would you like to know more about me?”

“Absolutely,” was the first word that came to mind.

There was a lot to learn about Lucy: she came from old, english money and a prestigious education. She was a pilot, like Jeff, and a devoted philanthropist. She was the oldest of two sisters in the family, and though she hoped it would be a long time until the family fortune fell into her hands, she didn’t want it to sit around gathering dust.

“It’s not doing us nearly as much good as it could do for others,” she said.

It wasn’t hard to convince Jeff that she would be a valuable asset and a worthy coconspirator. After just one lunch she had ideas of needed features for the rescue fleet, including a spaceship. She was adamant that a spaceship should be included in the plans, even if it would need to remain in the planning stages for a long time. The possibility to avert space travel disasters that, right now, were a death sentence if caught any time after take off, was too compelling. She also first suggested the idea of a monitoring satellite, tapping into communications around the world, searching for distress calls. However, you would need the spaceship to get there, so that idea was shelved away.

Lucy was quickly brought into the loop on all of the ideas and plans, and joined the dance of sending ideas and blueprints back and forth. The heart of the project became the atomic fusion reactor core, a condensed power generator that, if properly harnessed, could hypothetically offer more power than anything currently in use, as well as last a considerably long time. With occasional hardware updates, one might even be able to generate power indefinitely. The Professor was still running calculations.

After a little over a year of working as a trio, they started on their first real project: the Supercar model. A compact little vehicle, roughly the size (though not quite the shape) of a large car. As they began searching for materials and construction facilities, they began to really struggle with the element of secrecy. After a few awkward conversations with a variety of managers about the exact, unique materials they would need, Jeff called up Lucy and The Professor.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he told them, “I’m not quite as good of a liar as I would like, and I’m just well known enough that if they ever put the pieces together, they’d come knocking on my door.”

“Keeping all this a secret might be the hardest part,” The Professor acknowledged, “could you contact them over the phone? Or, anonymously somehow?”

“If we did, how would we get the materials? It’s hard to stay anonymous and conduct business. Not to mention, who would want to do such shady business?”

“We need a front man,” Lucy said. “a comparatively unknown face, a good communicator.”

“You really think that would work?” Jeff said.

“If you got the right guy,” Lucy confirmed.

* * *

Jeff mulled over the question for a few days, and so did Lucy and The Professor. The answer sent him flying out to Malaysia, to meet with an old friend of his.

Jeff went out to Kyrano’s house to meet with his old college roommate.

“We need someone to be our liaison,” Jeff told Kyrano, ”talk to our partners and providers without exposing too much. We’re working on some tech that might help obscure identities, but that’ll take months to be really workable.”

“And you want my help?” Kyrano asked.

“Unless you think you know someone better,” Jeff replied.

“I’d be happy to help you,” Kyrano said, “but my brother might be better suited. He’s always had a way with negotiations, and he has more practical experience with machinery anything like what you all are using. He’s worked with the World Navy.”

“Really?” Jeff asked.

“I get the sense I’m being talked about,” Haziq said, stepping into the room.

“Haziq!” Kyrano said to his brother, “You remember Jeff.”

“Of course,” Haziq said, sharing a nod of acknowledgement with Jeff.

“He has an interesting proposition,” Kyrano told him, before ceding the conversation over to Jeff.

Haziq was an easy sell. He was immediately interested in the unique technological ideas behind the project, and he was a great get for the team. He was at least as skilled as Kyrano had made him out to be, offering plenty of ideas and thoughts around the designs of the crafts and the identity obstruction tech, and easily negotiating with any collaborator he was sent out to work with.

The team as a whole worked stunningly well together, sharing similar excitement and intellect. Not a week went by that they weren’t all in communication, and most days at least one phone call or message was sent between them.

Jeff and Lucy also frequently had more public business in Britain and the US for their respective families, and used their preexisting responsibilities as excuses to spend more time together. Whenever Jeff went across the pond he stayed in the Creighton-Ward estate, and Lucy knew that if she happened to be in the colonies the Tracys would be happy to help her any way they could. After a few trips, Jeff started flying out to meet her, regardless of where she was visiting in the states.

* * *

Everyone took a brief break from working on the project, and from their everyday lives, to attend Jeff and Lucy’s wedding. Roughly two years of working closely on the project and commiserating about pilot and astronaut work was more than enough to cement a bond between them. It certainly helped that Lucy’s unbounded enthusiasm and willingness to try anything balanced well with Jeff’s methodical and meticulous driving to do better and go farther. When Jeff looked down into murky waters, Lucy gave him an extra push to dive in, and when Lucy shot for the stars, Jeff would make sure she got there safely.

The ceremony was held on Jeff’s newly developed private island, where they would move in together, and after the official reception the four members of the rescue project team went down into the barely-finished secret hangar to drink and celebrate.

Only a few months later both Lucy and Jeff were in space: Lucy on the ISS under the British flag, and Jeff on NASA’s first return trip to the moon in decades.

* * *

As the Supercar model neared completion, Lucy brought up a question they’d been neglecting for a long time: these things needed a name.

“It’s the Supercar,” Jeff shrugged. It was what they’d called the vehicle all through design and production.

“But what about the whole fleet?” she asked, “And the project? When we reveal the project the organization will need a name.”

“We could leave it up to the public,” Haziq suggested, “or our most generous supporters.”

“We’re not leaving anything up to generous supporters,” Jeff reminded him, “this is an independent organization, supporting the whole international community—“

“International Rescue,” The Professor suggested, partly as a practical option, but mostly as a distraction from the familiar argument.

“It’s descriptive,” Lucy agreed. “Not bad at all. And the machines? It’d be great to have something emblazoned on them, so you know them when you see them.”

“Hopefully not many people will see them,” The Professor noted, “the less visual evidence anyone has of these craft the better.”

“All the better to have a familiar name, then,” Lucy said. “any ideas? I like the idea of fireball, or firebird…”

They all looked at the unfinished Supercar as they thought it over, as though it might strike them with inspiration.

“Super… supermechaniation…?” Jeff offered half-heartedly.

“Thunderbirds,” Haziq said.

“I like that,” The Professor acknowledged.

“We’ll think about it,” Lucy decided, before they turned back to work.

* * *

Thunderbird Zero went out on its very first rescue mission a week ahead of schedule when a call came in from a couple of kids in a life raft, lost in a fog. A couple final tests were traded for a wish and a prayer as Jeff took the Supercar out without every screw and function triple checked, but it performed beautifully. The kids were returned to dry land without a hitch, and with minimal eyes landing on the unprecedented little craft. Jeff returned to base with a few suggestions to make sure everything was in order, and to be better suited to real life rescues.

As they made notes on Thunderbird Zero’s plans, ideas also swirled for new designs.

* * *

When Scott was born, he was almost immediately brought down into the secret hangar. A baby was great for morale, and carrying a baby around wasn’t going to stop the Tracys from working on the International Rescue projects, whether he was on Lucy’s hip or in Jeff’s arms. There was, however, some debate as to how old he would need to be before he was allowed to be taken up in Thunderbird Zero.

* * *

Scott was nearly a year old when a disaster came across the airwaves: an American space shuttle had been sabotaged, leading to catastrophic failure just before leaving earth’s atmosphere.

Lucy was on the phone with Professor Graham within hours, further developing plans for a new Thunderbird machine: a space faring rocket, faster and more maneuverable than any shuttle. Ideas also started swirling of needing another agent: an intelligence agent. Someone to trace the root causes of man-made disasters. A covert agent could also find them guarded information more quickly and efficiently, and, if and when the program went public, could perhaps even monitor public and political opinion of the organization more closely.

The longer the idea rattled around within the group the better it seemed. For a moment they considered broadening Haziq’s job description, but his talent was in negotiation, not intelligence work, and the disguise tech he had been working on with The Professor was still not quite adept enough to truly cover anyone’s identity. It was agreed that a new agent would be best.

This was what motivated Lucy to bring in her younger sister Penelope, fresh out of university. As Lucy put it,

“She has a fabulous background studying the social sciences, and she is a gifted gossip. And I mean that in the kindest way,” she added as Penelope shot her a glare. “plus, free babysitting!”

“Let’s not go too far,” Penelope interjected.

* * *

By the time Virgil was born two more Thunderbird vehicles were almost complete and ready to be sent out alongside the Thunderbird Zero Supercar: Thunderbird One, the Fireball rocket for space missions, and Thunderbird Two, the Stingray, a designated undersea vessel. In the end the numbering only indicated which vehicle was planned first. Thunderbird Two, the Stingray, was less of a challenge to build, and the first of the two ready to be launched. Not only was there more precedent for how to build a super submarine, but the designated test pilot, Haziq, was not pregnant. Lucy, on the other hand, refused to let anyone else pilot her darling Fireball, and as such testing had to be put on hold for several months.

The Stingray proved highly valuable. Though Thunderbird Zero could dive, that was just short of an afterthought. The Supercar was most at home in the air. The unmatched diving capacities of Thunderbird Two on the other hand were able to avert the most serious underwater disasters and zip across the ocean depths in record time. It was sleek, and quick, and easy to miss, all very helpful in their secret mission.

“When will we go public?” Haziq asked, returning to the hangar labs after his fourth successful mission in Thunderbird Two.

“Not yet,” Jeff was quick to tell him, “we still have an incomplete Thunderbird, and Penny hasn’t heard anything to suggest that our cover is getting thin.”

“We’ll go public once Fireball is fully tested,” Lucy said, projected on a video call from upstairs in the main house where she was watching the kids. “maybe as early as next year.”

“If we went public now,” Haziq noted, “outside funding could allow—“

“There won’t be outside funding,” Jeff reminded him, not looking up from the schematics he was going over with The Professor, “International Rescue stays private.”

“We don’t need to scramble to cover such a task with our limited resources,” Haziq insisted, “we could outsource all kinds of things, and outside influence could give us a direction, keep us from wandering aimlessly around—“

“There is no direction,” Jeff said, turning to face Haziq, “International Rescue will be just that, International. No rescue will be outside our jurisdiction—“

“Suppose we had to prioritize one mission over another—“

“We sure as hell wouldn’t make a decision like that based on money,” Jeff snipped.

“Boys,” Lucy said over the video feed, “and I’m talking to you, the grown men who should know better, not those two,” she clarified, gesturing over her shoulder to Scott and Virgil, both napping. “you know you’re not changing any minds. Drop it.”

Haziq and Jeff shot sharp looks at one another before returning to their work.

* * *

Thunderbird One testing took longer than Lucy’s original one year estimate. Rocket testing was laborious and complicated, with a lot of Ts to cross and Is to dot, not to mention careful, covert deals to make with the mission controls and space monitors of the world to avoid anyone panicking or, god forbid, uncovering International Rescue. Testing was further put on hold when Lucy got pregnant again, a little over a year after she made her original estimate.

“I wonder,” she mused one day, lounging in the main room with Jeff and the kids, “do you think the boys might take over International Rescue from us one day? Or — oh God —“ she snickered at her own thought, “work with us?”

“I hope so,” Jeff replied, completely sincere, “if we can’t pass on that universal drive to help we’ll have gone wrong somewhere.”

“But, wait, no, imagine,” Lucy went on, “a teenager with a rocket ship? I know I certainly wasn’t the sweetest kid.” She put on her best disgruntled teen face and whiny voice and groaned, “Ugh, Dad! You don’t get me! I’m going to the space station!”

Jeff couldn’t help a snort and her theatrics.

“And then, whoosh! He’s off!” Lucy concluded.

“If he’s smart enough to pilot a rocket, I’d like to think we could trust him to come back in one piece.”

“Maybe, but I had a straight As to go along with regular broken bones in school. Oh, or he decides to travel around the world and find himself! For your average kid, they take a backpack and a year off from school. He’d take a Supercar and be back in a day or two!”

“What’cha talking about?” five-year-old Scott asked, looking up from his picture book.

“Just wondering what you’ll be like when you grow up,” Jeff told him.

“I’m gonna be a pilot, like Mom,” Scott told them matter-of-factly, “and a cowboy.”

“Sounds like a great plan to me,” Lucy confirmed.

* * *

John and Gordon were born a few months later, and for a little while it was very quiet in the secret base. Though there was plenty of noise in the Tracy house, with four young children. Between Lucy putting her main focus on the kids, especially the infant twins, The Professor caring for his own young son, and Penelope always off on intel missions, Jeff and Haziq were the only two with the liberty to respond to rescue calls.

It was only a matter of time before they snapped.

It was not immediate; it took more than leaving the two of them alone in a room for a few hours. However, by the time Jeff, Lucy, Professor Graham, and Haziq were all back in the labs together Haziq had an ultimatum to lay down. He would no longer stand by and watch as everyone else in the group—well-to-do, idealistic do-gooders in his words—waffled around secretly saving people with some of the greatest technological advances of the last few decades, if not the century. International Rescue would go public, with a plan to offer their services and tech to the highest bidder, making it a real power in the world. If not, Haziq would walk out the door, and all of his skills and knowledge with him.

A polite term for what followed would be passionate negotiations. It would more generally be remembered as a fight. Lucy and Professor Graham attempted for a time to try and restore or maintain peace, as they had in the past between Jeff and Haziq, or to find a compromise. But it became increasingly clear that there would be no compromise. Haziq was determined that keeping International Rescue within the exclusive control of everyone in the room was unsustainable, and power should be ceded to someone else. The benefits of selling off the tech far outweighed his desire to be directly involved. But for the others, one of the core, founding principles of International Rescue was its independence, allowing the freedom to take risks and the certainty of their ability to help others indiscriminately.

After a great deal of deliberation, the answer became obvious. To put it bluntly: if Haziq wanted so badly to cede the powers of International Rescue to someone else, he could cede his powers within International Rescue to the rest of the group.

The original unit was broken, and the cloud of that falling out would forever hang over the remaining members.

* * *

Taking the project public was further delayed after Haziq’s departure. Instead, they set to work on building Penelope her own vehicle and fleshing out plans for a scanning satellite. The most important part was the core scanning system, but ideally it would function as a space station, allowing International Rescue personnel to observe the planet. An automatic scanning system could only do so much.

But who would watch it? Such strenuous, isolated work was not in Penelope’s job description, and everyone else was raising children. Lucy insisted they keep working on the project regardless; such an endeavor would take several years to complete, and they could trade out monthly. By then, maybe Scott would be old enough to help care for his siblings and make it easier for his parents to man the station. Or, perhaps they would find another team member by then, though Jeff and Professor Graham were understandably hesitant to bring anyone else in.

FAB One, on the other hand, was built without trouble. The Rolls-Royce body was large enough to fit any number of extra mechanics and features. Though it wasn’t subtle with its bright pink paint job, it was loaded to the gills with valuable spy tech, and Penelope couldn’t be happier.

* * *

When Lucy discovered she was pregnant again, it complicated a lot of things. International Rescue was closer to being officially revealed to the public than ever before, but with one of their pilots a little preoccupied with creating a new human being, the reveal would need to be delayed again. There was also the issue of a mysterious figure beginning to cause problems worldwide. There had been three reported hits so far by someone calling themself “The Hood.” Each hit caused a nearly impossible to solve disaster, each one drawing International Rescue farther and farther out into the open. Through the kindness and integrity of those they’d assisted, the organization had so far remained a secret, but things were getting dicey.

After a fourth hit, Penelope was able to provide valuable intel: she had traced a handful of insubstantial fake identities to one, very real person: Haziq. Using the disguise tech he had helped The Professor invent, he had been creating these crises, baiting International Rescue. The moniker of “The Hood” was likely for theatrics, and to further draw International Rescue’s attention, Penelope theorized, and might also create a calling card for him. If Haziq couldn’t sell state of the art rescue services to the world, perhaps he was selling state of the art sabotage instead.

Once Alan was born, it was a race against The Hood to be ready to present International Rescue to the world on their own terms before Haziq could force them out, or worse, trigger a disaster they couldn’t fix. After a couple months work, they were nearly ready.

That was when it happened.

The cameras in the hangar didn’t offer a clear view of what happened, exactly, but some things were very clear: Lucy had gone down to do a check on the Fireball to be ready for a routine satellite mission in the morning. This put her in the perfect position to intercept Haziq when he broke into the labs. What exactly he was after, no one was sure. There was no audio recording of the altercation, but there were several minutes of tape where the two appeared to just be talking. That was when weapons were drawn. Shots were fired, and Lucy dived behind Thunderbird One. Then Haziq placed the bomb. He bolted for the Stingray, abandoning the sub he’d used to reach the island, and Lucy rushed to climb into the Fireball, but the bomb had a timer set for less than five minutes.

The explosion shook the island.

Jeff rushed to the scene to find utter destruction. The cameras were all fried, the Fireball and Stingray obliterated, a gaping hole torn through the roof of the hangar toward the open sky, and Supercar scorched, in spite of being across the hangar from either of the other machines. The conventional diving machine Haziq had used to reach the island was blown to bits. Pieces of the main body of the Fireball were scattered across the cavernous room and there was no trace of the capsule. All that was left of the Stingray were pieces of a few fins and the rudder.

It was undeniable: Lucy and Haziq were dead.

* * *

Jeff had to tell the boys. Only Scott and Virgil were really old enough to understand. Scott was nine by then, but Virgil was barely seven. The simplest explanation was that there had been an accident, and Mom wasn’t coming back. They would spend a little while at his parents’ house to readjust to life without Lucy. It was up to Jeff to raise four young boys and an infant, and he couldn’t do it alone.

For a while, there were still murmurs between the three remaining members of international rescue: “maybe if…” “it could be that…” “what if…” but after two months with no further sign of Haziq or Lucy, there was no doubt about it: the International Rescue project had claimed two lives.

With the organization’s remaining members filled with grief, and their equipment horribly damaged, International Rescue was put on indefinite hold. Professor Graham, Jeff, and Penelope mourned their two lost friends, and took on the heavy work of constructing a cover story to explain the loss to people outside of the organization. Those like Kyrano and Mr. and Mrs. Creighton-Ward were told the truth, but the last way the International Rescue project needed to be introduced to others was through such a tragedy. The passages down to the secret base were locked, the scanning satellite shut down. The satellite hadn’t even been complete enough to have the Thunderbird Three label painted on it, as per the plans. It would be over a decade before it could be finished and marked with a five, instead.

When Scott was a little older Jeff was able to explain a little bit more about what had happened. The stock story for the Tracy brothers became that a very bad man, The Hood, had infiltrated a secret base and set an explosion, killing their mother. But the less the younger boys concerned themselves with the mother they would practically never know, the better.

* * *

Jeff found many people he could rely on as he did his best to raise the boys. His mother was a great deal of help, having raised multiple sons herself, and The Professor and Kyrano were a great paternal support group. Kyrano’s daughter Tanusha, just barely older than Alan, started visiting the Tracys with her father at a very young age. Penelope was supportive too, in her own way. She was able to offer Jeff a sympathetic ear away from his family, and on occasion they would get together to share a few drinks, enjoy conversation, and, especially in the early days, remember and mourn Lucy.

* * *

For several years, the International Rescue idea was shelved, but it was never truly forgotten. As everyone began to heal from their horrible losses, the idea began to tug at Jeff and The Professor again. Slowly, carefully, they began work on the project again, starting almost from scratch.

The Professor continued to work on perfecting the atomic reactor core and new Thunderbird designs until his death, brought on by years of exposure to atomic radiation. After Professor Graham’s untimely death, his son, Finlay “Brains” Graham, was brought into the Tracy family and, eventually, expanded and finalized the Thunderbird designs.

Progress was gradual, and every safety feature was double and triple checked, but over several years International Rescue was revived. By the time he was 21 Scott was able to start test flights in Thunderbird One, and a year or two later serious tests began on Thunderbird Two with Virgil, and then Thunderbird Four with Gordon, and Thunderbird Three, with John at the helm and a barely-teenage Alan begging to tag along.

By late 2064 the full Thunderbird Five satellite was operational, the last of the machines to be finalized, and International Rescue was finally ready, after decades of work and dreaming, to be revealed to the public and go into full operation.

However, a lot of this is old news to the Tracy brothers. When Jeff tried to explain himself after his run-in with The Hood, he was a little more concise.


	8. Brink of Disaster

Jeff tried to explain as quickly as he could: “Haziq was a founding member of International Rescue. He… he killed your mother. I picked up the old tracking signal on his ship and thought maybe… well, I had to investigate.”

“You thought it could be Lucile,” Penelope filled in. “foolishly.”

“Right,” Jeff said, “and when I found the ship, Haziq was able to grab me.”

“How’d you get out?” John asked.

“It takes more than some ropes and a chair to hold Jeff Tracy,” he told them with a grin.

“What about, you know, miles of water?” Gordon retorted.

“I can swim,” Jeff reminded him incredulously. “Your old man’s not that old!”

“How did his ship survive so long?” Virgil asked.

“Haziq’s a smart man,” Jeff said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been able to patch it up and update it fairly well over the years.”

“So, he could a-actually use the plans he stole?” Brains said, “Th-there’s a real risk there?”

“He handled a lot of the work with our materials providers. He could probably have a thunderbird duplicate built in six months time. He could find a way to sabotage one of ours even quicker.”

“Hey, guys?” Tanusha spoke up, “A power plant is still at risk of meltdown and there’s workers stuck on that island. Trap or not, we have to do something.”

“It is a trap,” Jeff confirmed. “But it’s also a very real emergency. John, see if you can find the layout of that plant, or even the whole island. We need to know how to get in.”

“On it,” John confirmed.

“How do we avoid the trap?” Scott asked.

“I don’t know,” Jeff admitted. “we have to be ready for anything.”

“We have to be ready for a rescue,” Tanusha insisted, “our priority should be making sure any workers on the island are safe.”

“There’s an aboveground entrance and a pipe system that’s large enough for Thunderbird Four to travel in,” John interjected. “It’d probably be best if we were prepared to use either way—“

“We’d have to trade out Thunderbird Four’s glass,” Gordon said, “or at least reinforce the hell out of it.”

“Depending on the pressure in the s-system, we might could risk a strong patch,” Brains spoke up.

“Gordon, see what you can do about that,” Jeff said, “We’ll need to take Thunderbird Two in that case—“

“It’s also in the best condition,” Tanusha told him, “and we could bring a variety of pod vehicles to be better prepared. Though, the pilot’s not doing so good,” she added, gesturing to Virgil and his propped-up leg.

“I could do it,” Virgil insisted, “I flew back here—“

“We don’t need to risk that,” Jeff said, “someone else can fly her.” Virgil only managed a short, whiny groan before Jeff turned to Scott, “How’s Thunderbird One?” he asked. Scott winced, shrugging.

“One of the landing legs is shot,” he explained.

“Then you can fly Thunderbird Two. Oh, and Penny,” Jeff added, turning to Penelope, “whatever happened with the suspicion around International Rescue?”

“Nothing good, I’m afraid,” she told him. “political concern is mounting. Haziq planted the seeds.”

“Damn,” Jeff muttered.

“Frankly, I should get back to London. We only have a matter of days before the issue of our morality and reliability goes before the International Council, and I must do what I can.”

“I’m sure you can do it,” he told her.

“And I trust in you all,” she returned the sentiment. “you can’t underestimate Haziq, but I do think you all have the better odds.”

“Thanks Penny.”

* * *

As Gordon went down to the hangar to better patch up Thunderbird Four, and Penelope began her trip back to London, plans were thrown around in the main room.

“So, what do we think his angle is?” Scott asked.

“Knowing Haziq, it could be anything. He’s probably in it for the money, but he’s clearly targeting us. I can’t imagine he doesn’t have a personal stake.”

“You think he wants us dead, or for ransom?” Tanusha asked, “Or would it be different for each of us?”

Alan turned to look at her,

“That’s, uh, a little dark—“

“I couldn’t say,” Jeff replied. “could be he’s sold his ability to get intel on us, now that International Rescue is a known entity, or, for all I know, he’s out for revenge.”

“I don’t mean to be that guy,” Virgil said from the sofa, “but he could have killed you earlier, if he wanted to.”

“So all we can count on is the rescue,” Scott concluded. “We need to be able to prevent the generators from melting down, or exploding, or both.”

“That’s certainly the highest risk,” Jeff agreed, “and it looks like the explosion he set off was near, or on, one of the generators from the readings.”

“Y-you could take a generator key,” Brains noted, “they’re fairly standard and can shut down the interior mechanisms. If you can get me some s-schematics for the generators you wouldn’t have to find one in the facility. By the sound of it, The Hood w-wouldn’t have bothered to shut the facility down in such a w-way.”

“Not at all,” Jeff confirmed, “he could be using it to boost the Stingray. Or fuel something else entirely. John, see if you can get the data Brains needs. The sooner we can head for the facility the better.”

“So, we’ll bring the mole and the crane, too, to cover our bases,” Scott said, looking over the data. “how many workers are there?”

“Staff is five people,” John told them.

“So, you and I will take Thunderbird Two, with Gordon in Thunderbird Four—“ Jeff said to Scott, before Tanusha spoke up,

“I’m coming with you.”

“What?”

“He’s my uncle. I want a part of this fight. For my dad. John can stay here and handle operations,” she added, before anyone could argue she was needed at base. Jeff hesitated, but replied,

“Alright. one more person can’t hurt—“

“Then I’m coming too!” Alan insisted, “Nobody needs me here!”

“Yeah, he should come too,” Tanusha backed him up. “One more person can’t hurt,” she said, staring Jeff Tracy down with a dare in her eye.

* * *

With Thunderbird Four’s windshield patched up and the pod loaded and ready to go, Brains handed over the generator key.

“It’s got th-three pieces. I labeled them. The port should be near the top of the generator and fairly self-explanatory. It all fits together like a puzzle, then you push it to the right, it clicks, and the internal mechanisms begin to shut down. The sooner you can shut things down the better.”

“Got it,” Scott said, taking the box of parts.

“John, we’ll radio as needed,” Jeff said as he double checked the tech he’d packed. “Let us know if any important data comes in from the site before we get there.”

“Yes sir,” John confirmed.

Jeff hesitated in his final check, looking over two pen-sized devices, before adding them to his tool belt.

“Keep an eye on Virgil, Brains,” Scott added.

“Of course,” Brains said with a nod. “a-and I’ll start working on fixes for the damage we took today.”

“Good man,” Jeff said. “We’ll be back soon.”

* * *

The team got to work as soon as they reached the danger zone.

“Gordon, get to Thunderbird Four and find that underwater entry point. The rest of you, be ready to go as soon as we touch down.”

“FAB,” Gordon said, climbing out of his seat and heading for the pod.

As they got closer to the island facility they could see a plume of smoke billowing from one side of the building.

“Any updates, John?” Jeff asked over the radio as Thunderbird Two started to descend.

“Generators are continuing to degrade, slowly,” John explained, "You have around an hour before one’s likely to blow. But with that fire spreading nothing’s for sure. And careful of using your ray guns, a blast to a weak point in a generator’s casing and it could go. They may not be ready to explode, but those things are far from stable.”

“And how many workers are we looking for?” Jeff added.

“Should be five. Records say that’s the average staff capacity, it’s a mostly automated facility, and readings seems to show around six life signs, suggesting five workers and The Hood.”

“Got it,” Jeff confirmed. “You ready Gordon?” he asked, switching to Thunderbird Four’s radio.

“Ready!”

Scott released the pod as they neared the water, and by the time Thunderbird Two had landed securely on the island Thunderbird Four was nearly a mile deep.

“We have to be ready for anything,” Jeff told Scott, Tanusha, and Alan as they exited Thunderbird Two, “remember: the civilians are the priority. This is a rescue mission, in spite of everything.”

“Right,” Scott confirmed, reaching the door and turning back for confirmation before trying to open it. With a nod from his father, Scott pushed on the door, and it opened without trouble.

Everyone took in the landscape before them: the eye was immediately drawn to the three large generators at the back of the cavernous warehouse space. To one side of them the fire raged, only barely held back by a wall, and on the other stood a wall of what looked like office space, or control rooms: two stories of doors and windows facing out toward the main floor. Scott could just barely make out a small black device, stuck to one of the generators, and surrounded by scorched and dented casing on two of the three generators. It was too far to see what the digital read outs for each generator were saying exactly, but the two lit up in flashing red didn’t bode well. The third generator seemed unharmed, the farthest from the fire and not impacted by the explosion. The generator closest to the fire was absolutely the highest risk, but for now it was somewhat contained by the heavily reinforced walls, flames flickering through former windows and doorways. Jeff just prayed no one was stuck on the other side of the fire. There had been a metal catwalk between each generator, under the ladders up to the individual control panels, but it had been compromised by the explosion. A chunk of it now lay on the facility floor. One of the workers was stuck on the former catwalk, with empty air to one side and the encroaching fire on the other, and a partly-blackened uniform that suggested she’d been close to the blast. Could be injured.

“I’ve got her,” Tanusha said, gesturing to the stranded worker and bolting off in that direction, pulling a grappling hook off her belt.

Jeff pulled out a pocket communicator, looking over the readings from both Thunderbird Two and Thunderbird Five’s scanners, to get a better sense of what, exactly they were up against. The most important thing was to check the life sign readings.

“Scott, there’s someone stuck in a room in that back corner, and it looks like the fire is eating away fast at that wall. You’ve got a fire extinguisher?”

“Yes sir, I’ve got two,” Scott confirmed.

“Good. Go help them. One more is under the debris from the explosion, and there’s three life signs in those rooms. Gordon will surface just under that manhole,” Jeff added, before turning to Alan, “get that debris clear and make sure that worker doesn’t have any injuries. I’ll get the manhole open.”

“Thunderbird Four calling,” Gordon’s voice crackled over the communication systems, “I’ve got eyes on The Hood’s sub.”

“The Stingray?” Jeff asked, “Scan it. Is anyone on it?”

“Negative,” Gordon replied, “it’s empty. What should I do?”

Jeff hesitated, thinking over the options.

“How long would it take to put a tracker on it?” Jeff asked.

“Two minutes, max,” Gordon told him.

“Get a tracker on it. If you think you can disable a fin or a rudder quickly and safely, do it, but be careful.”

“FAB,” Gordon said before shutting off communications.

Jeff hefted up the cover with the aide of a handheld electro-magnet, and turned back to see the others returning with the roughed-up workers. Tanusha and Alan were both supporting the man who was trapped under the fallen piece of catwalk, with the woman Tanusha had helped down assisting them as she could. Scott had given his mask to the woman trapped in the back room and was a few steps behind the others, but everyone was being ushered toward the exits, and so far the rescue was going smoothly. In that brief moment of waiting, Jeff couldn’t help but wonder when the other shoe would drop.

* * *

Lady Penelope knocked on the door of MP Richard Taylor’s home just after six in the morning, and was pleasantly surprised that he answered.

“Well hello Richard, I’m so glad you’re here. I was hoping we might have a chat?”

Richard Taylor blinked at her a moment before stammering,

“C-certainly,” and ushering her inside and to the kitchen where he was finishing up getting ready for work.

Penelope sat down at Mr. Taylor’s kitchen table as he puttered around the room, making sure he had his keys, his wallet, some breakfast.

“This couldn’t have waited until I reached the office?” he asked.

“I didn’t want to waste time sitting around, waiting for you. This was on my way,” Penelope flippantly explained herself, “my driver can take us into London together if that would make you feel better about all this.” She held her notepad and pen in front of her to retain the appearance of journalism.

“And what is ‘all this’ exactly?” Mr. Taylor said.

“You and your associates are proceeding on false information about International Rescue,” she told him. “I uncovered some very interesting things in my research—“

“Were you up all night researching?” he interjected.

“Well, with such curious circumstances and a global vote being held in a matter of days it seemed of utmost importance. I have to get this story to my readers in a timely manner. As I was saying,” she added, re-centering the conversation, “you all have been misled. The supposed secretaries carrying notes questioning the morality of International Rescue aren’t genuine employees.”

Mr. Taylor scoffed,

“What else would they be?” he asked, incredulous.

“An agent with ulterior motives, seeking to cripple the vital rescue organization. I reached out to most members of parliament, and no one claimed to have started the conversation about International rescue. Everyone received a note via a secretary.”

“Could that not simply be a strange coincidence?”

“Ms. Edwards secretary is a lovely woman who has been working in her office for several years. She hasn’t taken any personal days recently. The man that gave you a note about International Rescue was not her secretary.”

Mr. Taylor hesitated, leaning on his kitchen counter.

“It’s an artificial concern, is what you’re saying? One, or maybe a small number, of instigators purposefully sewing distrust?”

“Exactly.”

Mr. Taylor let out a heavy breath.

“That is concerning,” he admitted.

“International Rescue has a spotless record, Mr. Taylor, you know this as well as I do. You have often championed the organization. Could you, perhaps, talk to your associates, and urge others to reconsider this outright rejection of an organization that provides an invaluable service—“

“Penelope, you’ve got me convinced, but you don’t exactly have air-tight proof. Even if this was all started by an outside agitator, the questions and concerns are real. Suspicions can’t be dispelled simply because they were built on someone’s bad faith. Two days isn’t enough time to roll back this process. We will send our ambassador for the international vote, and I’m afraid the majority of parliament will want him to vote against— or at least to question, the total lack of oversight International Rescue currently enjoys.”

“Think of the lives that could be lost,” Penelope pressed him, “if International Rescue also has to grapple with world law before or during missions. Part of their value is their speed—“

“Penny,” he interrupted her, “I can only do so much.”

“Then can you help me?” she asked, “What would need to happen for International Rescue to remain in good favor? Maybe I could publish it, and they could act quickly enough.”

Mr. Taylor thought it over, taking a sip of tea.

“They would have to come out and speak for themselves. The only thing that could put this to rest would be if International Rescue defended themselves to the international council.”

Penelope tapped her pen against the table, the one major tell of the pressure she was feeling.

“A bit of a challenge for an organization that needs to maintain secrecy,” she noted.

Mr. Taylor hummed an agreement, taking another sip of tea.

Penelope had to hope Jeff and the others were faring a bit better. The last thing they needed right now was a failed rescue.


	9. Ricochet

Jeff gave out further orders as Alan, Tanusha, and Scott reached him, the battered workers in tow.

“Let me take him,” he told Alan and Tanusha, who were working together to support the most heavily injured worker, “I can get him back out to Thunderbird Two. One of you needs to get over to the offices in that corner—“ just as Jeff took one of the man’s arms from Alan, the sound of ray gun fire rang through the space. An explosion thundered above them, sparks flying, and all eyes turned to the building’s entry as steel scaffolding from above collapsed down to block the exit.

Alan’s attention snapped back to the origin of the shot, just in time to catch a glimpse of The Hood’s face as he dashed back into one of the rooms on the upper level.

“There he is!” Alan shouted, bolting after him.

“Alan!” Tanusha called after him, still weighed down by the injured man. She turned to Jeff for direction. He nodded to her and took on all of the man’s weight as she sprinted off after Alan.

“Gordon!” Jeff barked into his communicator, “How long until you can surface?”

“Zero seconds,” Gordon told him, voice echoing over the radio as he climbed out of the manhole.

“The entrance has been blocked,” Jeff explained. “how many people can you fit in there?”

“Probably…three, not counting me,” Gordon replied.

“Alright, you’ll need to take these three and come back for the other two. Scott, can you—“

“On it,” Scott confirmed with a nod, heading for the lower level of offices to find the last two workers as Jeff helped Gordon load everyone else into Thunderbird Four.

* * *

Alan burst through the door of the control room, ray gun drawn, and turned on The Hood.

“Freeze!” he barked.

“Oh no, whatever will I do,” Haziq muttered, not looking up from the control panel as he finished his task. He turned to look at Alan, “What are you going to do, boy?” he asked.

In the time it took for Alan to say, “What?” and tilt his head, The Hood’s ray gun was drawn.

“Tracys,” The Hood scoffed, “you lack conviction.” As he pulled the trigger a metal staff hit him in the wrist, forcing the gun out of his hand. The blast hit just beside Alan’s feet, sending him stumbling back.

Tanusha pulled her staff back to her with her electromagnet as she sped into the room, taking another swing at The Hood to keep him from grabbing for the gun. She swung the staff around again, aiming for the head. His hand shot up to block the blow. He grabbed the staff and tried to pull her over with little success. A shove back, on the other hand, forced Tanusha back against the control board.

* * *

Jeff looked around, having helped the third worker down the manhole. Now it was only a matter of hurry up and wait, until Gordon could drop those three at Thunderbird Two and get back. The wall between him and the fire was starting to blacken. At least there was also a good 15 to 20 feet between him and that wall. He turned to the other side of the room, looking for signs of Scott, Alan, or Tanusha. Scott was breaking down a door on the lower level of offices; with any luck the last two workers would be out soon. Then it was just a matter of handling The Hood. Of facing Haziq.

A flash of movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned back towards the fire, looking for any indication of what that could have been. Had they missed a worker?

“John,” he said into his communicator, “how many people did you say were in this building?”

“Should be six, five workers and The Hood, not counting you guys.”

“Is that what you’re seeing?” Jeff pressed. For a moment there was silence on the other end of the communicator.

“The fire and the power fluctuations from the generators make it hard to know for sure. I’ve counted more than the expected number a few times, but I think it’s a technical fluke—“

Jeff flinched at the sound of a ray gun blast.

“Let me know if you’re able to confirm another person,” Jeff told John before switching to Scott’s channel. Across the room he was helping the last two workers out of the office through the shattered door. “Scott? Can you handle those two?”

“Yeah,” Scott responded quickly, voice betraying the strain of pulling most of a man’s body weight through an awkward doorway.

“Get them to the manhole and wait for Gordon to get back,” Jeff ordered. “I’m going to help your brother.”

“FAB,” Scott confirmed over the communicator as Jeff turned and headed for the stairs up to the control room.

* * *

The Hood stepped toward Tanusha, still gripping her staff.

“This didn’t go especially well for you last time,” he reminded her, pinning her to the control board with her own staff.

“Maybe not,” she grunted back before jerking her knee up towards her chest. Though she missed her intended target, she kneed him squarely in the gut, and The Hood folded over, letting go off the staff. She smacked him with the staff, forcing him all the way to the ground. “But practice makes perfect,” she told him.

“Tanusha,” Jeff said, gaining her attention. With a jerk of his head he ordered her away from The Hood, and she hesitantly obliged. Alan had scrambled to his feet, and the two teenagers stood behind Jeff Tracy as he faced The Hood, a hand resting lightly on his ray gun.

“Haziq,” Jeff said in place of any kind of greeting.

“Ah. Jeff,” The Hood replied, looking up at him. “I’m surprised you came all the way out here, old man.”

“No older than you,” Jeff reminded him, scowl deepening. “What do you want?”

“What do you think I want?” Haziq sneered, sitting on the floor, leaning against a control bank.

“To sell our tech to the highest bidder?” Jeff said.

“You always were smart,” Haziq replied. “I’ll certainly use these updated plans to improve my outdated machine as well, but the power core alone will make me a very rich and powerful man.”

“I’m afraid we can’t let you do that,” Jeff said, taking a step closer to him.

“I thought you might say that,” Haziq told him, “and that brings me to my other goal.”

“And what’s that?” Jeff prompted.

“Vengeance.” The Hood lunged forward and grabbed his ray gun before anyone could stop him.

* * *

Scott let go of the worker’s hand as Gordon took her down into Thunderbird Four.

“That should be the last of them,” Scott told his brother.

“Got it,” Gordon replied. “I’ll get them to the surface, and I’ll get to work on freeing up the entrance as quickly as I can.”

“Right. But if you can’t reach us in half an hour—“

“I’m sure you’ll call me,” Gordon said, switching over to the communicator as he sunk underwater. “See you then.”

“FAB,” Scott confirmed, turning back to the generators. As he crossed the room he pulled out the generator key Brains had given him, looking over the pieces. They fit together like a simple jigsaw puzzle, this couldn’t be too hard. He just had to get up to the generator controls on the front of this thing before the fire got too close to it. Then the second one would be easy. He was only a few steps up the ladder to the ragged catwalk when he heard the ray gun blast. He jerked around just in time to see his father collapse out of view of the control room windows.

Scott clicked on his communicator, already stepping back down off the ladder,

“John, how long until catastrophic reactor failure?”

“Twenty minutes at best,” John told him. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Scott lied, “just let us know when that gets down to ten minutes,” he said just before breaking into a sprint, heading for the control room.

* * *

With Jeff collapsed on the floor, clutching his side where the blast had seared into him, The Hood turned on Tanusha, standing between him and the Tracys, staff raised in a defensive stance.

“I’ll ask you once,” he told her, “will you join me?”

“Hell no,” Tanusha spat, “traitor.”

“Shame. It’s your one chance to live,” he noted, aiming for her head.

“A slice into my side doesn’t exactly seem like vengeance,” Jeff spoke up from the floor, drawing The Hood’s attention. “Can’t stand to kill a friend?”

“Hardly,” The Hood said, “suffering is far greater revenge. I know you well enough to know you only have so much care for your own life. Your sons, on the other hand…” he turned the ray gun on Alan, and Tanusha and Jeff both tensed, but before he could pull the trigger again, The Hood’s eye was drawn by movement by the door. He whipped around to fire through the doorway.

Scott ducked as blasted ceiling tiles collapsed down on him, and The Hood’s ray gun clattered across the floor, a large dent burnt into it, as Haziq clutched at his hand.

“Leave my family out of this,” Jeff grunted, ray gun still raised in front of him.

“You’re the one who brought them in,” Haziq reminded him with a snarl, lunging forward and grabbing for the ray gun. Scott threw the generator key aside and shot forward, slamming into The Hood and sending them both barreling over backwards, trying to grab the most painful, advantageous hold on the other.

Tanusha dashed over to grab the generator key as it skittered across the floor. She turned back to find Alan right behind her, and pushed the pile of metal into his chest.

“Go,” she told him.

“But—“ he gestured towards his brother wrestling The Hood, “But—!” he repeated, gesturing to his father bleeding on the ground.

“You’re fastest,” she told him. “get over there, and keep this place from going sky high.”

Alan nodded to her and bolted out the door, stuffing the generator key pieces into his pockets. Tanusha knelt down beside Mr. Tracy.

“I’ll be alright,” he said, waving her off with an unconvincing forced smile, “you have to incapacitate Haziq.”

“Yes sir,” she confirmed.

Scott had The Hood pinned to the ground, a leg braced against The Hood’s torso.

“Give it up!” he snapped at the villain, “You’re not going to win this!”

“You don’t know that,” The Hood retorted, maintaining an air of nonchalance even as he struggled to breathe properly.

“You’re not getting out of this except in the custody of International Rescue,” Scott told him.

The Hood threw all his weight to one side, toppling Scott over and smacking his head into the control bank. The moment of disorientation was enough for The Hood to pull Scott up off the ground by his collar and slam him against a wall.

“I’m afraid not,” The Hood told him, “I think you’ll fail, Scott, just like your parents. You may even die in a fireball, like your mother.” Scott struggled in The Hood’s grip, but with only air beneath his flailing feet he didn’t get far. “You can’t stop me, and neither can the rest of your pitiful family.”

The Hood’s legs collapsed out from under him as Tanusha jabbed him in the back of each knee in quick succession, and Scott dropped to the floor.

“What about your family?” she asked, standing over The Hood as he started to return to standing. He lunged at her and she stumbled back as Scott scrambled forward to grapple him again.

* * *

Alan kept his thoughts on his task, laser focused on each next step: get to the generator. Once to the generator, climb up to the generator controls. Once to the controls, place and turn the key.

As he reached the controls he tried to ignore the heat coming through the nearest wall. It was only then that he took a good look at the pieces of the generator key. He traded between the pieces with one hand, holding onto the ladder with the other, and looking for the labels Brains had put on them. He was turning the second piece over when John’s voice came over the communicator, startling Alan out of his focus and causing him to fumble and drop the piece.

“Ten minutes to generator breakdown,” John told him as Alan swore quietly.

“I’m working on it,” he replied, finding the first piece and slotting it into place.

There was a pause on the line; John had expected Scott, but thought better of questioning anything right now.

“FAB,” was the quick answer.

Alan was looked down to see where the other piece had fallen, and found a woman handing it up to him, a few rungs down the ladder. She was older, dressed practically, maybe Dad’s age. Alan faltered for a second, not sure what question to ask first.

“Go on,” she said, nodding to him and holding the piece up closer to him.

He took the piece and slotted it into place as he started asking questions.

“Who are you?”

“Worry about that later,” she replied, a British accent evident in her voice. “Is that a generator key?”

“Yeah, uh…” he put in the third piece, “Listen, ma’am, you should get out of here—“

“I’ll leave with you all,” she told him as he pulled on the key, watching the read-out screen on the generator intently. As it blinked from red to green he turned back to the woman and found her already heading down the ladder. “Come on!” she ordered, “We’ve got another generator to shut down!” He grabbed the key out of the port and climbed down after her.

* * *

Scott had gotten an arm around The Hood’s neck, and was trying to both pull him away from Tanusha and ignore the throbbing in his own head. As The Hood grabbed at Scott’s arm, Tanusha took the opportunity to slam her staff across The Hood’s head.

“Tanusha!” Jeff shouted, gaining her attention just in time for her to catch a small device, no bigger than an ink pen. She looked to Mr. Tracy for direction and he gestured to his neck. The vague instructions fell quickly into place for her and she clicked a button on the device, releasing a needle, and jabbed it into The Hood’s neck. After a few seconds his struggling became steadily more sluggish, until he collapsed to the floor.

“I’ve got one more of those,” Jeff explained, “if we need it to keep him under. Try and figure out a way to restrain him.”

* * *

As Alan worked to get the generator key into the other failing generator, the woman watched the flames through the doorway, and the ever-darkening wall.

“Do you all have a plan to put out the fire?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Alan told her, pausing to focus on putting the last piece into place properly, “but we need Thunderbird Two for that.”

“Thunderbird _Two_?” the woman muttered to herself, face scrunching up in confusion.

Alan yanked on the key, and after a tense moment the generator’s read-out screen confirmed in green letters that disaster had been averted. Sort of.

“Good job, Alan,” the woman smiled up at him.

“What? How do you—“ Alan was cut off by John calling back over the communicators,

“Great job getting the generators stable, but there’s only so much that’ll do against that fire. You guys need to get out of there. Fast.”

“FAB,” Alan confirmed, following the woman back down the generator’s ladder.

“We’re trying our best,” Scott confirmed from the control room. He turned back to Tanusha, “I don’t think I can carry him by myself,” he admitted, and Tanusha looked between the unconscious Haziq and the wounded Mr. Tracy.

“I think I can handle myself,” Jeff told them. “a little pain builds character.”

“No,” Tanusha insisted, “you’re not gonna be able to get that far in your state,“

“We don’t know how much time we have,” Scott interjected. “we should take the risk of leaving The Hood behind and get you out of here,” he told his father.

“We can’t risk someone dying on our watch,” Jeff said, “make sure he gets out of here. I’d rather take the risk myself—“

“Nope, sorry,” Tanusha said, walking over and pulling Mr. Tracy up, supporting his weight by draping one of his arms over her shoulder, “you don’t get to be that kind of hero today. We’ll come back for him,” she assured him, “but we’re getting you out of here first.”

Scott scrambled up to take his father’s other side.

“I think the power really went to your head, running the desk all day,” Scott told Tanusha with a little bit of a smirk.

“Sometimes you have to make executive decisions,” was the only reply she’d give him.

Between the two of them they were able to get Jeff down the stairs to the main floor, where Alan was waiting with the woman.

As Scott caught sight of her, he squinted at her, tilting his head.

“I think that’s the woman from the sea lab emergency we responded to yesterday,” he muttered, gaining his father’s attention.

Jeff had been watching his feet as they shuffled down the stairs, and as he looked up he knew exactly who he was looking at.

“Lucy!”

“Jeff!” the woman yelped, rushing over as they made it to the bottom of the stairs. She took Jeff off of Scott’s hands, shouldering most of his weight.

“Oh no,” Jeff muttered as they headed towards Alan, “am I dead? Has this been the extended hallucination of a dying man?”

“No,” she assured him with a small chuckle, “but it’s a very long story.”

“You’ll have to tell it to me sometime,” Jeff smiled at her, half-stunned.

“Later. Right now we have to get you out of here,” she reminded him. Scott grabbed Lucy’s arm,

“Mom?” he asked, wide-eyed and breathless. There was nothing else to say.

“Hello, Scott,” she smiled at him, and that didn’t help him find any other words for the situation.

“ _Mom?_ ” Alan echoed, utterly confused.

“You have to go get Haziq,” Jeff reminded them, “and someone call Gordon, see if he can—“

A cacophony of clanging yanked everyone’s attention to the entrance where Gordon had managed to get through the heavy metal debris with a laser cutter.

“That’s an extra one,” Gordon noted, looking Lucy up and down and seeing neither a facility uniform nor an International Rescue uniform.

“I’m with you,” she assured him, before turning to Jeff and quietly asking, “…Gordon?”

“Gordon,” Jeff confirmed, before shifting back to his command voice, “Gordon! Alan! Go get Haziq out of the control room and meet us in Thunderbird Two. Scott, get ready for lift off.”

“FAB!” Scott and Gordon both replied, dashing off in near-opposite directions, Alan leading Gordon up to the control room.

* * *

With everyone loaded into Thunderbird Two, including The Hood stuffed away in a small supply closet, they hurried through checks before lift off.

“Passengers strapped in, all systems functional, pod secured, water loaded to extinguish the fire— ready to go?” Scott asked.

“Go ahead,” Jeff confirmed.

Down in the pod, Lucy kept an eye on the battered workers and held on to whatever was closest as Thunderbird Two took off.

Hovering above the flaming facility, Thunderbird Two released water down onto the fire, reducing it to embers. John confirmed over the radio that the facility was in totally stable condition as they headed toward the mainland to drop off their charges. The facility would need a great deal of recovery work, but it was safe, and could continue powering a handful of coastal cities.

Emergency services were waiting when Thunderbird Two arrived on the mainland, and with his father resting in the cockpit, Scott handled public relations. The workers would be well cared for, and, with any luck, The Hood would be locked up somewhere for a long time, pending a trial. As he climbed back into the pod, Scott found himself face to face with his mother.

“Do we need to drop you off somewhere?” he asked, trying to push aside the surreality of talking to a living ghost.

Lucy glanced towards the civilians milling around a ways away, well enough out of earshot.

“Tracy Island?” she suggested.

“I doubt Dad would argue,” Scott said.


	10. End of the Road (Epilogue)

The hearing of the International Council to pass judgement on the continued activities of International Rescue happened on schedule, a little over a week later. Representatives from every government around the world gathered in the assembly hall, but all eyes were on an unfamiliar representative entering the hall. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floors. She kept her head held high, not meeting any of the staring eyes. She sat down near the center of the hall and put in the earpiece that would translate all the statements not made in her native english. She settled herself in her seat and straightened the “IR” pin on the lapel of her blazer.

“Would you introduce yourself?” the leader of the meeting prompted as the meeting was calling into session.

“My name is Lucile Creighton-Ward, and I am here as the official representative of International Rescue,” Lucy explained. A murmur rippled through the hall as her words were translated across every language. “I will do my best to answer all of your questions. I look forward to working with you all going forward.”

* * *

Eight days prior, Lucy had been facing the equally daunting audience of Tracy island, after nineteen years away. Gordon had been brought up to speed on the flight back, and both he and Alan were, understandably, having some trouble really wrapping their heads around the reappearance of a mother they never really knew. There was no smooth way to reintroduce someone presumed dead, and everyone in the main room on Tracy Island snapped to alert when Jeff, Scott, Alan, Gordon, and Tanusha returned with a near-stranger in tow.

“Who’s she?” Virgil was the first to ask, though he couldn’t even really stand up. Grandma and John, on the other hand, both had weapons drawn. Grandma was the first to lower her sword,

“Good lord,” she breathed, taking a step closer to Lucy.

“It’s so good to see you again, Mrs. Tracy,” Lucy told her with a smile. Virgil’s attention snapped between Lucy and Grandma, trying to place the woman’s vaguely familiar face. As Grandma pulled Lucy into a tight hug, everyone else looked to Jeff for answers.

“You’re not the only one she needs to talk to, Mom,” Jeff said, patting his mother’s arm. As Grandma let her go, Lucy looked between John, Brains, and Virgil. She glanced at Jeff,

“Unless I’ve _really_ forgotten something, one of them is new,” she noted.

“You haven’t forgotten anything,” Jeff assured her, “one of them is Professor Graham’s boy.”

“Oh! Well then,” she pointed at Virgil, “you’re Virgil, you’re Dr. Graham’s son,” she added, shifting to Brains, before turning to John, “and you must be John? You’re so tall…” she muttered, tilting her head up a bit to meet his eyes.

“You’re spot on, Lucy,” Jeff confirmed.

“Who is she?” John asked his father again, just as the pieces clicked into place for Virgil.

“Mom?!” he lurched forward, half-intending to stand before Brains pulled him back down to the couch.

“Believe it or not,” Lucy replied with an awkward chuckle.

“ _Mom?!_ ” John echoed, finally lowering his ray gun.

“That’s what _I_ said,” Gordon told him.

“And here I thought I’d m-met all of your family,” Brains muttered to Virgil.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Jeff said, “I don’t think I’ve fully gotten my head around it myself—“

He was interrupted by beeping as the eyes of Lady Penelope’s portrait flashed.

“Go ahead Penny,” Jeff said, stepping over to look at the portrait properly. Lucy perked up.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news, Jeff,” Penelope told him, talking into her compact as the Rolls zipped through the english countryside. “There’s practically no chance of swaying political opinion about International Rescue in time for the vote. Mr. Taylor suggested the only solution might be for someone to appear on the floor to represent International Rescue and respond to concerns, but I can’t imagine—“

“Listen, Penny,” Jeff cut in, “that is absolutely important and we’ll get on that in just a minute, but I think I have some good news that will more than make up for our political troubles.”

“Oh?” Penelope asked as Jeff gestured Lucy over.

Penelope shrieked so loudly that Parker nearly swerved off the road.

“Lucy!” she shouted, wide-eyed. “I’m terribly sorry, Parker,” she added, “but also I absolutely must get to the island as quickly as humanly possible. Fly this Rolls off a cliff if you have to, the sooner we arrive the better!”

“Yes, m’lady,” Parker confirmed with a nod, covering well for almost having a heart attack moments before.

“Explain yourself!” she snapped at Lucy through her compact, “Obviously I could not be more happy to see you, my god, you’re alive! But also you must explain yourself this instant.”

“Listen, Penny, I can explain it when you get here,” Lucy told her. “You know, you look absolutely wonderful—“

“Thank you. But flattery will not get you out of this,” Penelope retorted, “give me the footnotes, at least!”

“Um, well,” Lucy struggled for a moment to condense everything down, “Fireball’s capsule protected me from the blast and I eventually washed up in California. I started keeping tabs on Haziq, and I’ve been tracking him ever since. I couldn’t risk him figuring out I was following him, and he couldn’t risk being found, so I’ve been at least two layers undercover for nearly two decades. There were quite a lot of false identities and hair dye involved. And, you know, I think I might know a way to work around your needing representative for International Rescue.”

* * *

As she left the International Council’s headquarters after the first, grueling day of questioning, Lucy humored the news cameras for a few moments, answering questions as obliquely as possible. But, as she saw the car pull up, she stepped confidently but politely through the crowd, channeling her upbringing in English high society. A beep on her communicator confirmed there were friendly faces behind the tinted windows, and as she slipped into the car and shut the door behind her she was glad to find her husband in the seat beside her.

“Hello dear, how was work?” he parroted hundred-year-old sitcoms with a subtle grin.

“Grueling,” she replied, matching his tone and giving him a kiss, “I hope you have dinner and a stiff liquor drink ready for me?”

“We’ll have to see when we get there,” Jeff said, “it’s a hell of a commute. You ready to go, Tanusha?”

“Yes sir,” she confirmed from the driver’s seat, pulling the car out and heading for the agreed upon lift off point.

* * *

The Tracy house was full of activity when Jeff, Lucy, and Tanusha came through the doors from the hangar. Gordon and John were helping Grandma with dinner, putting their unique twin cooperation to good use, and Virgil was playing some mood music with Brains leaning on the piano to keep him company. Scott was sitting behind the desk in the main room, just in case, keeping his hands busy with a video game. Penelope sat in an armchair, writing up a piece to help keep her journalism cover. Alan was sitting on the couch, and hopped up as soon as Tanusha and his parents come through the doorway, beaming at Tanusha for a moment before turning to his mother,

“Well?” he was the first to ask, “How’d it go?” and as soon as the question was raised, all eyes turned to Lucy.

“It went alright,” she told them, hanging up her blazer by the doorway. “They were surprisingly accommodating with the stipulations that I could give no personal names or technical specifics. It looks they may agree to gather a committee to establish consequences if International Rescue ever steps out of line, with the review process taking place after an incident occurs to avoid slowing down our response time. But right now, I have about ten hours before I need to head back to the mainland.”

“And you’ll use that time to take care of yourself,” Grandma interjected, “food’s on the table in about ten minutes.”

Family dinners had become more valuable since International Rescue had started up. Most nights either John or Alan was up in the space station, and more often than not someone else was also out on a mission. With the whole family back together, Lucy included, a family meal was better than ever. It was a lot, to be sure, with eleven people crowded around the table, but the conversation was animated and the room radiated joy, even if Alan tossed a bread roll across the table at Gordon for a snide remark. Only one thing could break the revelry.

John stood up from the table, as everyone lingered in the dining room talking in spite of dinner being long finished.

“We’ve got an alert,” he said, gaining everyone’s attention. Scott was the first one up, with their father right behind him. John explained as they headed toward the main room, “powerful earthquake in Istanbul. Most of the damage is under control, but there’s a couple spots no one else can get to in time. Some reports of underground flooding. We’ll definitely need the mole, maybe Thunderbird Four—”

“So much for getting rest,” Lucy chuckled, stepping up beside Jeff as they looked over the data coming in from Thunderbird Five.

“I’m afraid it comes with the job,” Jeff replied.

“Dad?” Scott asked, one hand already grabbing wall sconce, ready to initiate Thunderbird One takeoff.

“Alright boys,” Jeff said, stepping over to his desk, “Thunderbirds are go!”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I really appreciate you tuning in to my personal joy ride of Thunderbirds rebooting. I hope you have a great day, and I'd encourage you to read kudos and/or a comment!


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